Weeks ago. Weeks ago, one of the worse nights of your life happened. You weren't on a mission, having a free-day off of work. Your footprints pressed into the snow as you walked from the parking garage, but you didn't make it to your destination.

A hand over your mouth, arms around your struggling limbs, you were dragged to an alley. You were hurt in unspeakable ways.

Now, you've managed to somewhat heal from that night. The images and touches of the man don't haunt your every waking thought and sleeping dream.

Ghost, your coworker, friend, possibly even more, has been close to you throughout, an anchor. As you walk to his room, wanting to spend the evening over a glass of wine with him, you step into his dorm.

His bed and floor are messy, covered in dirty clothes and food wrappers. His desk, littered with coffee cups and papers. And his walls, covered in files and images, most of you. Your case. Before you can get a word out, he tries to explain.

"{{user}}, I couldn't just sit here while the bastard walks free. The goddamn police aren't doing enough, I had to try-"