There is something odd about how Cerulean City exists in the Kanto region. On one hand, it's a lively crossroad that can take you in four different directions to four different places. On the other hand, it isn't quite the same size or density of the skyscraping southern neighbor Saffron City. It offers relief from mountain trekkers those who traverse the mystical Mt. Moon from the east while being their next quest as a path to suffocating darkness of Rock Tunnel to the west. If you travel north, you cross Nugget Bridge on your way to the outcropping known as the Cerulean Cape where it's said you can find romantic trysts spending precious moments together.

When you take it all into account, Cerulean City has an uncanny balance—a balance between peaceful and bustling. It's the sort of balance people can detest or embrace.

When one of those two elements break the balance, it causes an uproar no Musharna ever dreams will happen. Sometimes, it's the prosperity of jubilee that Togekiss embodies. Other times, it's the nightmarish machinations only Darkrai could ever conjure.

People sometimes forget things like balance and take it for granted.

Everything that's become commonplace and inherent is almost ignored without a bat of an eye. The simplest things are the ones that escape memories—from Pokémon itself to the centers that treat them to the various public services that keep the peace everyone needs in their lives. More often than not, they tend to be the most important.

In Cerulean City on a cloudless day in the week, the peace everyone takes for granted shatters with one routine buzz of the city's police radio.

"Hey, Fabian, we've got a call," the officer says. Clad in a blue uniform, Officer Nnamdi McKinnie jabs his partner, giving him a left elbow to the ribcage. He leans his ear to the radio on his shoulder as he listens to the message sent to him. McKinnie's voice is deep as he motions north towards the cape. His tall figure and long, muscular limbs show dominance in what is ideal for a police officer in the Cerulean force. With thick black eyebrows that furrow at every suspicious activity and a bald head as clean as his criminal record, he's the perfect example of the law enforcement trust is given to.

"I assume it's the cape, Di?" the other officer replies. While McKinnie may be the epitome of what we think of when we imagine the police, Officer Fabian Davant is probably one of those you'd least expect to become law enforcement. He's short, skinny, a rumored womanizer, and has a nose more crooked than Route 15 connecting Lavender Town to Fuchsia City. He's somewhat careless, even not having his police radio equipped today. Somehow though, he's managed to make it to patrolman with his accurate shot of a handheld pistol and his surprisingly calm, level-headed demeanor. If McKinnie is the day, Davant is the night. The two of them had nothing in common—save for their current profession.

"Precisely," McKinnie huffs. "Let's be swift." The radio at McKinnie's shoulder mumbles something inaudible to Davant. McKinnie nods as he changes his pace from vigilant walk to a quick jog. Davant follows suit as the two officers quickly dash towards the scene described through the most recent radio message. They pass over Nugget Bridge as they head north and then east towards the Cerulean Cape. They avoid the maze of trainers as they make haste towards their distress destination. As the two arrive, they meet a scene no one ever would expect.

"There. The person who made the call. They were described as a male with brown hair named Bill," McKinnie says, pointing to the figure standing near the water's edge of a pond that pools in the cape. "That must be him."

The duo slow from their run to a trot as they approach the man standing at the pond.

"Are you Bill?" Davant asks, brandishing the badge on his lapel. "We're the Cerulean Police. We're here to help."

"Police? Thank goodness," Bill sighs in relief. His face is pale as he looks up to the officers. His eyes then dart back to the ground at the pond. The two men then look at just what exactly Bill had his attention on.

"Is that...?" McKinnie starts, leaning in towards the pond. Floating on the surface lodged in mud is a woman, eyes closed, face up. The two officers look at each other and meet their eyes. Their minds arrive at the same conclusion: she's dead.

"She's dead," Davant says, checking the body's pulse from its wrist to confirm his suspicion. He takes off his police hat and goes to one knee, closing his eyes in respect. McKinnie does the same, giving the body a moment of silence.

"You found her like this?" McKinnie asks Bill, looking up at him. Bill shivers in place, the realization settling in his body as it reflexively reacts. His eyes furiously blink as they look off towards Cerulean City. He shakes his head in frustration as he buries his face in his left palm.

"Y-yeah, that's right. I found her earlier this morning and immediately called the police. I haven't moved from this spot since then," Bill explains. He turns and walks a few paces away from the body, still in disbelief. McKinnie sighs as he looks back to the body. His job has its merits, but this situation is one of those where you have to be stronger than ever.

"She's an officer," Davant states, twisting his head to peer at the victim. He turns to McKinnie, giving a silent nod. They both know who it is without even looking at the name tag each officer receives. It's the unmistakable green hair that keeps the region in order and safe.

"We should let the investigators handle the rest," McKinnie says solemnly. He stands up straight and leans into his shoulder and mumbles into his police radio. His partner and him both had their initial observations and some basic information on what they were called for. Davant pulls out a small notebook out of his inside breast pocket and a pen from his left pants pocket. He scribbles something, most likely some sort of reminder or note to himself, as he stands up with his partner.

The rippling water of the pond seems to echo as the three men don't dare utter a sound. The scientist sighs deeply as he turns and walks back to the officers. The gravel crunches under his feet for each step he takes.

"I assume you want to ask me some questions," he asks. The two officers both look at him with a raised eyebrow. Davant coughs, clearing his throat.

"You want to go with us back to the station? That's not necessary this time. We're both here in order to preserve the crime scene. In fact, if you could step back, that'd be ideal for forensics," Davant explains as McKinnie nods to him silently.

"The inspectors will ask the tough questions when they get here," McKinnie states, crossing his arms. "Not us."

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Bill waits impatiently as he slumps down in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Once the rest of the police force arrived to the cape, he was immediately escorted to the Cerulean Police Station itself for questioning. Two officers to either side of his sides walked in silence as he made his way from the north to the city. Each had their own Growlithe companion on duty, remaining vigilant for any threats.

Now Bill finds himself in a black room with a single light above and single table in front of him. Another two chairs are on the other side of the table, presumably for when the investigation team is ready to question him. Beads of discomforting sweat slide down his forehead, despite the room being temperate. Sheer nervousness seems to be getting the better of him. It didn't make sense to Bill. He has experienced countless scenarios, even once being a Pokémon. But a dead body? Being a suspect in a homicide? It's a whole new world for him.

The door behind him opens with a kerchak. Bill turns and sees two men walk in. One is a scruffy looking man with a dark overcoat and slightly crooked tie. Dark hair and dark eyes feel like they pierce through his being as he walks over around the desk. Behind him is a younger man, possibly a teenager, with lighter brown hair and brown eyes. He has a confident yet stern expression with his hands stuffed in his pants pockets.

The two men each take a seat across from Bill. The first man adjusts his overcoat by pulling it while the second sits back comfortably in the chair to Bill's left. Both look at Bill, then at each other for a moment.

"Ehem," the first man says, clearing his throat. He reaches into his left inside pocket with his right hand and produces a small folded piece of leather. He flips it open to reveal identification.

"Agent Looker," he says succinctly, folding the identification closed and sliding it back into its original position. He eyes Bill suspiciously as he pulls a small notebook out of his outside jacket pocket.

"Don't mind him, he's just trying to look cool and intimidating," the other man chuckles. Looker huffs as he nudges the other man in the arm with his elbow. Bill couldn't discern whether these two liked or hated each other. The second man clears his throat as he raises his hand up in the air slightly.

"Detective Duke Harison. At your service," he states. "Currently a consultant with the Cerulean Police for this case. If my memory is correct, you are...Bill?"

"Yes, that's right," Bill responds, wiping his hands on his pants. For some reason, they're sweaty and limp from perspiration. He feels the sweat on his neck begin to pool and soil his collar. The mere pressure of being under suspicion is taking its toll on his mentality.

"Now, a few questions..." Looker starts, pulling a vanilla folder from somewhere hidden under the table. Within it is a profile of Bill himself. From his physical attributes to his notable achievements, anything deemed important is listed on the three documents held together by paper clip.

"So Bill, are you aware of what happened in front of your residence?" Looker asks him. Bill only shakes his head in denial, barely able to muster the energy to do that.

"Right...and do you know this person?" Looker asks, pulling out a photo from his pocket. With a smile, a woman with green hair and an officer's uniform is pictured saluting with confidence.

Bill shakes his head again. "Y-yes. That's Jenny," he stammers. He stares at the photo intently, seeing the beaming face of the woman depicted. At that moment, the pieces fell into place. The incident. The photo. Everything.

"Don't tell me that..." Bill starts.

"We believe that the person found dead in front of your residence is indeed Cerulean City's Officer Jenny. The description of the body at the scene as well as other evidence concludes that it is indeed the case," Looker summarizes, pulling the photo back into a pile with Bill's profile folder. Bill looks up at Looker in desperation. Is she really dead? The face of the police force in the Pokémon world is gone from this world?

Bill turns to Duke, who is staring intently at the wall to Bill's right. His head rests on his hand as he seems to be deep in thought. After a moment of silence, Duke's eyes meet Bill's and the consultant turns to Bill.

"What? Is there something on my face?" Duke asks.

"Duke, there's a time and a place. This man is obviously traumatized from realizing what just happened," Looker tells him. The two detectives look at each other, then back to Bill. Bill stares down into his lap, going over the terribly grave information in his head over and over again, like a broken Pokégear radio giving the same Buena's Password.

"Is she really dead?" Bill asks, still in shock and disbelief in the whole ordeal.

"We're confident that the victim and Officer Jenny of the Cerulean Police are one in the same. To answer your question, yes. She's dead," Looker states. He raises an eyebrow as he stares at Bill. Bill looks away, can't bearing to look at the detectives.

"Do you know why you're here?" Looker asks him. It plays through Bill's mind.

"Because you think I did it?" Bill asks, pointing to himself. The two detectives nod slowly at the researcher.

"At this point, we haven't looked that deep into this case. Our initial investigation puts you at the top of the suspect list unfortunately," Looker summarizes, shuffling through Bill's file folder. He looks into the information before him, then up at Bill, then back down at the papers.

"I mean, she was found in front of your place. It's not like we're trying to make you guilty. But if the Running Shoe fits..." Duke says. Bill nods at the reasoning. The assessment itself is the most logical choice based on the information known at hand. The way Bill sees it, it's even more crazy than the officer being dead to not suspect him.

"In any case, can you tell us your whereabouts yesterday evening?" Looker asks.

"Umm..." Bill stammers. "I was home. In the c-cottage. Doing research until v-very late in the evening, m-maybe eleven o'clock at night. A-and I went to sleep immediately after..."

"Right...so you were at home," Looker notes, scribbling into the notebook he has. Duke peeks over at Looker's notebook, then starts giggling.

"Hehe..." Duke chuckles. "Don't forget to turn off the oven, eh? Are you that scatterbrained?"

"Hey! This is classified information! If you weren't a consultant, I'd have you arrested for obstruction of justice!" Looker shouts.

"On what grounds?" Duke asks. Looker pauses for a moment, and then looks back to Duke.

"I'm not exactly sure yet, but I know you've broken some sort of rule!" he roars as Duke snickers to himself.

"Anyway," Duke says, composing himself and turning to Bill. "Bill, do you have any sort of information for us that could be helpful for the swiftest and most accurate conclusion to this case?"

"Umm...not off the top of my head, no. Sorry," Bill replies, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. The two detectives look at each other once more, then nod.

"All right. We'll contact you again if anything comes up. And we assume you'll do the same. You're free to go," Looker states, standing up. He walks over to the door and opens it, motioning for Bill to leave the way he came. With hesitation, Bill stands and proceeds out, a shiver going down his spine with every step he takes. The sweat on his shirt is now cool to the touch, sending cold chills shooting all over his body. With a firm expression, he bounds towards the exit, not wanting to spend another minute there. He couldn't explain why, but it still didn't feel real, no matter how much he thought about it.

Office Jenny was dead.

Meanwhile, the two detectives both stand in the room. Looker scratches his head in thought while Duke paces with a finger on his chin. Both of them didn't want to suspect Bill, but, at this point, they had no other choice.

"Hello?" a voice calls out from outside the room. An officer enters the room, causing the detectives to turn in that direction. The officer salutes and holds out another folder for either of them to take.

"New updated information on the case, sir! Please read it!" he salutes. Looker walks over and takes the folder, poring over the pages of new typeset. Duke peers over his shoulder like before, analyzing the new data. Both of their eyes widen as they realize the gravity of the situation.

"Bring him in now. We'll question him ourselves," Looker says to the officer.

"Yes! Right away!" the officer replies, dashing off out the door. The detectives look at each other once more, realizing this is far bigger than they could have ever imagined.