The sound of a water stream echoes through the detective's mind.

  He listens to it with a bliss he has never felt before.

  He listens closely to the water stream as if it is the only thing that exists in this world.

  ...

  ...

  ...

  What if it is the only thing that exists in this world?

  A rush of worry seeps into the detective's mind as his senses rush in to look for something other than the sound of rushing water.

  Skin.

  He could feel the water on his skin.

  It was warm like the blood pumping through his veins.

  Relieved upon being able to sense other things besides the stream of water. The detective begins to investigate his finding as if it were an instinct etched into his very being.

  He began to feel the pieces of his skin forming around a mass of meat and bone.

  This meat and bone began to take shape and differentiate themselves in certain qualities.

  Some of the bones are long and sturdy, while others hide between the meat in little chunks like the gears of a delicate clock.

  Some of the meat is capable of moving the bones while other parts of the meat work tirelessly to keep the whole machine running.

  Thuh-Thump, Thuh-Thump, Thuh-Thump.

  Breathe in... breathe out...

  And after a while, the detective reached a mass of Fat and Water forming a web of electrical currents inside a piece of sturdy bone.

  His thoughts echoed inside this calcium prison as he soon figured out that this place was something special.

  Suddenly, the detectives' disembodied consciousness began to get sucked into this blob of fatty tissue. As he tried the resist, this flesh began to consume him as he suffocated inside. He tried to scream but to no avail.

  He waited for oblivion, but it never came. Instead, the blob began to give him something more. Something that his mind was starved for. Information. Information of the past to be spesific. Like the water he was listening to just a moment ago, these memories of the past began rushing in.

  The Academy of Greater Investigation

  Case of The Burning Factory

  The Protest against The Quolaca Republics.

  The Elves

  Melina Silver

  Tachola

  And finally, with a sense of great importance and grandeur

  The Greatest Detective Alive

  ...

  The detective opened his eyes. He looked around as he had found himself in a bathtub full of different kinds of empty alcohol bottles. The water streaming down from the showerhead had soaked his pants and his buttoned shirt, if you can call it that, since all the buttons were missing and it had been torn in many places. It more so felt like a piece of cloth rather than a piece of clothing. He hurriedly took it off and threw it aside to not feel it stick to his skin. He could not bother with his pants that were secured in place with a belt buckle, however, since he couldn't muster up enough energy to take them off.

  The detective clumsily crawled out of the bathtub as he fell to the floor, almost hitting his head on the toilet while going down. Even though he did not hit his head, the feeling of immense pressure started to form inside his skull as if someone was repeatedly hitting it with a sledgehammer.

  "A headache. Great..."

  He said to himself as he got back up on his feet, holding onto the sink as he did so.

  Then he took a good look at himself in the mirror. A beard that has not been shaved for 2 weeks. His face, even though handsome, was still riddled with wrinkles as he was pushing 56. His moderately long, light brown hair was sprouting with gray pieces as they went to both sides of his forehead, where they were split from the middle. This hairstyle probably wouldn't work on anyone his age, but he kept this style for far too long to give it up now. You could see some muscles even though he has been neglecting working out for a while now, but those would be quick to disappear if he continued doing so. His red eyes, as if they were pieces of ash being forsaken from a fire, have dimmed down during these past years.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  After taking off his soaked pants, he went into the bedroom as the curtains of the hotel room failed to stop the bright orange light of the morning sun. In the bright beam of light, there was a table sitting in the corner of the room. On it were various pieces of paper and a brown notebook sitting in a state of entropic bliss. The detective picked up the pieces of paper and examined them to piece the memories back together.

  The first thing he picked up was a newspaper dating back to 3 months prior. At the top it read "The Mysterious Case of The Burning Weapons Factory" written in bold letters. Apprently this case was deemed unsolvable by many due to lack of evidence found. However The Academy wasn’t willing to accept this as they sent Detective Marshall Mayweather and The newest progidy to graduate from The Academy Melina Silver on the case for them to solve it.

  As the fragments of his lost memory fell into place he picked up the brown leather notebook.

  As he started reading he recognised his own handwriting.

  This was his own Notebook.

  In it was his findings made from his time working on the case. It was hard to understand it all as it was clear that he didn’t liked taking notes all that much and didn’t care at all for the documentation. As his own words written on it “Only documentation I need is in my head.”

  This was quiet unfortunate since this meant that his only form of documentation was burned down like The Library of Alexandria.

  Other parts the notebook was clearly written in a drunken stupor as it was riddled with poems and complaining about having to work at this case.

  Well…

  Except the last 3 pages.

  These pages were written very clearly and showed a change of demenor as if something made him change his entire personality. It was still weird as this wasn’t showing any proof or something similar to the case. Instead it was like a diary, he had written about how he was about to break open the case and that this night was the night it was gonna happen. He would finally show everyone that he was still the greatest detective alive.

  This was where it ended however. No other information were given about what drove him to do...

  Something.

  The detective started to feel a sense of dread he hadn't felt in a long time as he grasped at the fabric of his mind as it slipped between his fingers. He could not remember anything from the time he worked on this case. He started to scramble through different newspapers and his lackluster documentation in an attempt to regain a sense of control as he felt that if he could see something familiar then he might just recall some parts of his memories. These attempts were futile in the end as his own bad habits caught up to him. There wasn't any meaningful documentation relating to the case.

  The puzzle pieces of his memories fell into place alright but it just so happens that some pieces were missing.

  The detective took a deep breath and sighed as he let himself fall to the bed. He was trying to get some peace of mind to think about what he could do next.

  "Don't lie down you lazy fuck"

  These words reverberated through his spine as it slowly spread to the rest of his body. It was a deep and surly voice that would invoke a sense of fear you couldn't normally feel. The words coming into existence felt like black tar oozing its way into your consciousness, sticking to it.

  Hearing this The Detective jumped up from the bed trying to understand where the sound came from. He listened closely but the only thing he could hear was the conversation in the hotel lobby.

  Wait...

  Conversation in the hotel lobby?

  The lobby was 4 floors down...

  Even as a servent under Tachola. He could never hear this well.

  Shocked by his improved sense of hearing his mind lost focus on the main problem he was facing at the moment.

  The problem however was quick to respond.

  "Do not look around like a headless-chiken you moron."

  "Don't act like you don't know me."

  The Detective even while having lost his recent memories could tell that he never had heard of this deep and coarse voice reverberating through his bones.

  "I don't know you. Show yourself right now!" he yelled.

  "Calm down Marshall. What the fuck is wrong with you?" replied the mysterious voice.

  The Detective felt a bucket of boiling water being poured over him.

  "How do you know my name?" asked Marshall with a hint of curiosity and anxiety.

  "How should I not know your name?" replied the voice.

  "We have been working together for a long time Marshall. I am really offended right now. I am gonna need you to explain yourself right now or I am gonna be a pain in the ass."

  "What do you mean working together?" asked Marshall.

  "Oh yeah right you are the "Greatest Detective Alive" You do not need help." said the voice in a sarcastic tone.

  "I didn't work with anyone in particular for a long time. I have always liked working alone. I do not understand what you are trying to say here."

  The voice paused for a little bit as if the show signs of concern towards Marshall.

  "I am Tachola Marshall. God of the Hunt" replied the voice.

  Marshall taken aback by this asked Tachola:

  "But Gods do not speak to their servants they usually just provide them with gifts of some kind. What made you speak with me?" asked Marshall in deep concern.

  "That is what we are gonna figure out amigo," answered Tachola.

  "I do not remember what led me to be here talking to you right now. I do not remember recent events as of now. Which is weird since I can clearly remember the first spear being made thousands of years ago."

  "I hate to inform you Tachola but I do not remember recent events either."

  "Ah, Fuck..."

  Marshall stood still in silence in the middle of the room as he and his patron god were trying to figure out what had happened to them. They tried to come up with some theories but they all fell short since they could not confirm them. However, they were able to understand some things that had happened to Tachola.

  The first thing is the fact that Tachola could not leave Marshall's body as if both of them were fused together.

  The second thing they noticed was the fact that the gifts of Tachola were amplified many times. Marshall felt a lot younger as his body was stronger, faster, and sometimes -according to Tachola's will- heavier. This amplification also included his senses as all of them became sharper.

  While analyzing this never before seen situation a knock was heard at the door.

  Marshall slowly approached the door and turned the handle as the door swung right open from a force outside.

  In front of him was a young woman looking at him with anger in her eyes.