The rain whispered against the taxi window, tracing crooked lines down the glass. Beyond it, the city blurred into streaks of gray and gold alive, but distant.
A young man sat quietly in the back seat. His name was Goru Yakosobi. Once, they called him detective. Some called him hero. But that was yesterday.
This morning, a single paper ended everything.
A resignation letter. His last badge turned in.
Now he was just… Goru.
He pressed his fingers under his eye, feeling the faint scar there a mark of sleepless years. The mirror on the window threw his reflection back at him: tired eyes, black hair clinging to his forehead, and a face that looked like it belonged to someone twice his age.
"Take me somewhere expensive," he said quietly.
The driver glanced up through the mirror. "Any place, sir?"
"Anywhere," Goru replied. "Just make it shine."
He didn't care where he went. He only knew he needed noise something brighter than the silence in his chest.
Years of service had earned him 2.3 million credits. Money that came from pain, from catching monsters who wore human faces. Tonight, he would spend it all.
When the taxi stopped, he stepped out in front of a glowing restaurant. Warm lights spilled across wet pavement. People in clean clothes laughed behind the glass.
He walked in.
The chandeliers sparkled above, their light too clean for a man like him. He sat in the corner where the shadows were thickest.
The menu didn't matter.
"I'll take the most expensive meal," he said.
When the food came, it was flawless every color arranged like art. Goru stared at it for a long time before taking a bite.
The taste hit him hard. Bitter. Hollow.
He looked up at the waitress standing nearby. "What is this?" he asked quietly, his tone sharper than he meant. "I've eaten cold rations on a rainy stakeout that tasted better."
The waitress hesitated. "Sir, this is one of our most "
He cut her off, sighing. "Forget it."
The room had gone silent. He could feel people staring, but it didn't matter.
He picked up the fork again. Ate slowly. Each bite tasted worse, but he didn't stop.
"Still better than the job," he whispered.
When he finally left, his wallet was empty.
So was his heart.
And outside, the rain kept falling quiet, endless, like the world had forgotten him too.
The rain hadn't stopped since morning.
Goru Yakosobi walked down the street, collar up, hands buried in his coat pockets. The world around him blurred into reflections of gray and silver.
He was heading home out of habit, his mind still walking the same path he had for years. He had forgotten no, refused to remember that he was no longer part of the police force.
As he passed an alley, a sound broke through the rain.
A woman's voice weak, frightened.
Goru turned.
Three boys surrounded an old woman, trying to snatch her bag.
"Hey!" he shouted, stepping forward before he could think. His instincts took over. His hand reached into his coat for his badge—
but his pocket was empty.
For a moment, he froze. Then he forced a laugh. "Police! Drop it!"
The boys turned, eyes narrowing. They saw no badge, no weapon. Just a tired man in an old coat.
"Police, huh?" one of them sneered. "Then arrest us."
The first punch hit his face. The next took him to the ground.
Boots slammed into his ribs, his shoulder, his jaw.
He didn't fight back. Not because he couldn't but because he didn't see the point.
When the boys finally ran off with the old woman's bag, Goru stayed on the ground. The rain fell harder, washing the blood from his lip.
He lay there for a while, breathing slowly, tasting iron. Then, he laughed.
"Hah… better to be beaten," he murmured to the empty street, "than played for a fool in that old job."
The city didn't answer.
Minutes turned to hours. The cold seeped into his bones. He thought about standing up, but his body didn't move.
Then footsteps. Slow, deliberate.
A tall man in a black suit appeared above him. His shoes were spotless despite the rain. He bent down, smiling faintly as the shadows hid his face.
"Still laughing?" the man asked. His voice was calm, almost gentle.
Goru looked up through the rain. "Depends," he said weakly. "You here to rob me too?"
The man chuckled. "No. I'm here to make you an offer."
He reached out a hand steady, gloved, and strangely patient.
"Come on, detective," he said. "The world still has use for broken men."
Goru stared at the hand for a long moment. Then, with a tired smirk, he took it.
The rain didn't stop. But somehow, it didn't feel as cold anymore.
An Offer in the Rain
The umbrella made a small island of dry around the man in the suit. Rain drummed the city in steady percussion, but the man did not seem bothered. He looked down at Goru with a slow, even smile.
"You're formal," the man said, as if reading a name tag. "First detective Goru Yakosobi. Age twenty-five."
Goru blinked. The name sounded strange coming from a stranger's mouth. He pulled his coat tighter. "I'm not a cop anymore," he said. His voice was flat. Rain had a way of washing words clean.
The man tilted the umbrella so the rain skirted them both. "Why don't I give you an offer to be an investigator once more?" he asked. His tone was soft, almost casual danger disguised as civility.
Goru snorted. "Not going back to that life. Not ever."
The man nodded like he expected that answer. "Call me Twilight," he said. "For now, that will do." He reached into his pocket and produced a small card no badge, no rank, just a black rectangle with a single silver crescent. "I have a job. I'm not asking you to become a cop. I'm asking you to find my daughter."
Goru's mouth went dry. "You can't tell me her name?"
"Names are useless in places like this," Twilight said. "But if it helps your mind, call her Clara."
Goru blinked at the name. Clara. It sounded like a name from another life one that was soft and safe. He let the syllable sit in his mouth.
"Find her," Twilight went on, "and you will have nine point three billion dollars."
The rain seemed to pause. Goru laughed, a short raw sound. "You're joking."
Twilight did not smile. "She's being held in a place called Home. That's what they call it; not a hotel, not a prison. It's where the worst kinds are kept assassins, murderers, people the world pretends don't exist. It's buried in the desert, layers upon layers of security. Getting in is one thing. Getting her out is another entirely."
Goru's hands tightened into fists in his pockets. The city noise pulled at his edges, but the words cut through everything. Home. Desert. Layers. He had closed himself off from that world. Twilight kept talking.
"You will have help, if you accept," Twilight said. "You will have...other things." His eyes flicked toward Goru's face with a careful, almost clinical interest. "I know about your sister. I know she's in the hospital."
Goru's breath hitched. He did not remember when he had told anyone about his sister. That admission seeing her in a bed, tubes and beeping lights lived inside him like a raw wound.
"You know what she needs," Twilight said. "This money will fix that. It will buy her time, her treatment. You will not be a fool who walks away this time."
Anger rose hot in Goru, then something colder replaced it. He wanted to ask questions names, guarantees, proof but Twilight's words clung to him like rain.
Before Goru could answer, the world tilted. A sharp pain, then a soft darkness swallowing him whole.
When he woke, he was lying on a thin mattress. Light leaked through curtains painted the room in a tired gold. Voices moved outside calm, organized. A small card lay on the floor beside him. He picked it up with clumsy fingers. The same black rectangle, the silver crescent.
The door opened. A woman stepped in with a warm smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Behind her, three others waited, quiet and watchful.
"Welcome home," she said.
Goru's mouth moved, half a question, half an echo. Home. The word tasted different now.
He sat up. The rain still fell somewhere beyond the walls, but inside that room, something else had begun: a motion, a plan, and a name whispered like a promise Clara.