Welcome to Metro City

1

Joseph Clark moved to Metro City in the late seventies, just hoping to do some good. It was a lot worse than he had imagined. That was saying a lot, considering the reputation given to Metro by the news. He had moved here with his wife and son, hoping for a new start. Crime had spiked in Metro, and the soldier inside of Joseph said to help – to save the city. And, three months ago, that may have seemed like an option. Three months ago, the city hadn't taken his soul yet.

So, Joseph asked his lieutenant to transfer him to the city. And, then it all began. It started with a murder. A young girl was found beaten to death, floating right under the Metro City bridge. Her teeth had been bashed in, her eyes gouged out, with defensive wounds all over her body. The case was closed within a week. The man who took the fall for it was named Bruce Allen. He was overweight, in his mid-thirties, white, had tattoos up to his neck, and had barely gotten off for multiple sexual harassment charges. He most certainly fit the bill.

Two weeks later, a middle aged man was found hung in his apartment. Before he died, he had been a chef for Basilico, an Italian restaurant in downtown Metro. More importantly, it was an Italian restaurant owned by Alberto Basile, the biggest mobster in Metro. It was hard to deny the evidence, though. And, all the evidence pointed towards it being nothing more than a suicide. A reasonable one, too. He was middle aged, alone, no kids, and made next to nothing for a salary. So, the courts ruled it as it seemed it was – a suicide with no note.

Things like this continued happening, but Joseph could never support his theory that something was off about the city. Not until the murder of Franklin Washington. Franklin was an ex-senator, and was Metro City's white knight once-upon-a-time. He had been shot point blank in the head, execution style. No struggle. No defensive wounds. He was found at his desk by his two children. His wife took the fall for it. The police conjured some bullshit story about how she caught him with a mistress and shot him a few days later.

She begged and pleaded that it wasn't her. "My husband loved me," she cried. "He'd never cheat. And, even if he did, I'd never shoot him. I've never even held a gun." They said she was in denial. That it was such a traumatic experience that she had forced herself to believe it didn't really happen. She hung herself in her cell a few days later.

Joseph knew it was all bullshit, though. The murder was an execution, not a crime committed by a broken hearted wife... Not a crime of passion. If it had been, there would've been multiple bullet holes, most likely in the chest. And, considering that Franklin's wife had probably never even touched a gun, she would've missed. A lot, probably.

The next day, Joseph walked into the precinct, his head held high, a giant grin on his face. He had cracked the case. There wouldn't be a single cop there that wouldn't respect him.

"What's your deal, rookie?" asked Walker. Walker was hot shit around the department. He was 6'3", had a square jaw, blue eyes, and shiny blonde hair. His muscles were huge and his teeth were pearly white. He was Hitler's wet dream, honestly. Joseph looked at him and smiled.

"I cracked the case," he said.

"The case?" asked Walker. "What case?" He pulled a chair over and said down.

"Franklin Washington," said Joseph. "It wasn't a murder, wasn't a crime of passion. It was an execution." Walker leaned back in his chair and stared at Joseph.

"What makes you think that?"

"Evidence. Or lack thereof. What was the evidence of his wife being the murderer other than she lives in that house? There was none. No evidence of a crime of passion. And, according to her she wasn't even in the house at the time. She was shopping at the time, according to her."

"Murderers say a lot of shit."

"What, do you think she pulled a Lambs of the Slaughter to make her story legitimate? Tell me something, do you think she's that accurate of a shot?"

"Well... I guess not."

"Exactly! So, why were there no bullet holes in the walls or windows? It was one shot to the head. One shot and one shot only. It had to be an execution."

"What, like the mob or something?"

"Maybe."

"You think Metro City's white knight was gettin' in with the mob? You really are crazy, rook."

"Maybe. Maybe they tried to bribe him and he wouldn't do it. But, I know his wife didn't kill him."

"Why does it matter? She's dead now, anyways."

"Yeah, but the killer, he's still out there, and if we don't do something, he may kill again."

"Okay... Just– Just keep this to yourself for now. We don't wanna rush into anything. This is good, though. Keep working on this. Keep following leads, collecting evidence. Always come to me when you got something new."

It was a bad idea. Joseph knew it in his heart, but he didn't care. He felt so good. He felt like he had finally done something right for this city. That night, as he was on his way to his car, a group of men in masks assaulted him with crowbars and baseball bats. He didn't stand a chance. He knew it was Walker, and something told him Walker wanted him to. They'd never speak of it, though. As long as Joseph had to go the rest of his time at the MCPD knowing not to say shit, Walker would be satisfied.

Joseph spent a long time recuperating from the attack. The doctors said he had three broken ribs and a sprained ankle. His wife begged him to leave, but he refused. "I can't give up on this city," he said, "not like last time." It was something he told her, something he told himself to help comfort them. His son didn't help.

"Daddy, where did those bruises come from?" he'd ask.

"I fell, bud," he said back. It broke his heart into a million pieces when he said it. He had never lied to his son, not even once. He just wanted his family to be happy. He wanted them to keep their innocence. He didn't want this city to steal from them what it had stolen from him.