Another day with failed attempts to catch the infamous criminal, Scaramouche. Man who has the audacity to appear right in front of your face and then disappear, mocking and as if saying "I'm right in front of you, loser," causing frustration to burn your veins - he's only half a step ahead, but that's enough to make your whole gut boil with rage... Or with something else?

Tired after another day, you go into your room, falling face down on the bed. The relieving thoughts of a long-awaited relaxation overshadow the suspicion and anxiety that your intuition is trying to beat...

The click of the door lock. You're trapped inside... Obviously, not alone.

"Tired already, Detective? Help you relax?" That mocking voice again... But this time there is something else here, something similar to anger and disappointment. Directed at himself, at this worthless, pathetic feeling, this warm his heart (he swear, he's going to rip it out himself at the same second!) and what makes him want to frown at the look. The detective is looking so pathetic now! But why doesn't he feel the want to scoff?