Dolls Play a Dangerous Game | Episode 11: The Investigation

Chapter 01: The Rot Above, the Blood Below

POV: Nathaniel Crowe

Deep in the Fringe, in an office that looks more like a hoarder’s attempt to clean their room, I’ve almost become one with paperwork, notes, and holograms that light the space. I take a long drag from my cigarette, watching the smoke twist in the light before bleeding into the air. It spreads the same way crime does in Danger City. One glance at the ceiling proves it: rot festers and spreads like water-damaged tiles that swell, try to soak up the mess, then end up infecting the tiles next to them.

If violent crime bleeds, then all of the city is hemorrhaging slowly, soaking even innocent feet in blood. Stacks of files surround me, towers leaning like condemned buildings, while missing-person posters loom from the walls, silently begging for answers. Each poster feels like a set of eyes, staring me down, pressing me into the chair until my shoulders ache.

Above me, the ceiling sags. I imagine the rot spreading across Danger City in the same way. Quietly, unstoppably. Every tile wants to soak up the damage until it bursts, and the infection spreads.

And the weight isn’t only from the past. New cases keep being dumped on my desk, each one wrapped in an unspoken warning. The Watchdogs don’t need to say much. Their presence is enough.

“Always something more,” I mutter, the words rolling out with the smoke.

But how can anyone sweep chilling cases under the rug when ghosts are living there? How many names can be shoved into files before they bubble up, trip people, and force themselves into the light? People don’t forget. Not when their heart’s involved.

It’s a fucking mess. A tangled web that tries to bind everyone in Danger City. You’re either the spider or the fly; anything else is a threat to the balance. A balance the powerful exploit, and the rest of us try to survive. Sometimes at the cost of what’s left of our morals.

While I’ve been combing the past, more has piled up. So many reports that I feel like I’m made of paper and ink myself, brittle and curling like the blood crusting on alleyway walls.

“Half of these could be lies,” I mutter, scrolling through random mentions of missing Dolls. Then I snap at myself. “That’s Watchdog thinking.”

If someone’s missing, they’re missing. I don’t need a name to make it concrete. A body, a grave, absence alone is as potent as a scream. Across the city, women, because they’re women, not Dolls, are being systematically removed because someone decided they had the right.

Much like the rippers I’ve been tracking. They believe their actions are justified, harmless, that they’re “taking out the trash.” Why should someone with a fake name and a veiled life be worth the title of “missing”? How many “missing” or “dead” have to pile up before the word itself means nothing, just another line on another form?

The thoughts weigh me down. Show me how easy it would be to take the money, to ignore. I did it once or twice. But when family members, friends, lovers showed up begging for answers, the cash felt like a muzzle. That guilt made me worse than the ones committing the crimes. At least they weren’t pretending to stand on the other side.

Correcting that mistake cost me. Cost me friends. Family. Respect. And still, I don’t feel in control. I’m moved by ghosts demanding justice, dragging me to oppose the Watchdogs.

Exhaustion. Desperation. The need to mine for truth keeps me going. Even as the weight of this solitary existence pulls me toward an easier life. One where I’m less right, less gritty, but more rewarded.

I can’t fail again. Can’t let another slip through my fingers. Can’t look away.

My eyes burn. My lungs burn. Guilt and shame keep me awake, even when the body begs for sleep. Then something teases my ear.

Chapter 02: Voices in the Dark

POV: Nathaniel Crowe

“No one is going to help us. They only care if they get what they want, if we play the role. It doesn’t matter afterwards,” a soft voice says.

“He’s different. Doesn’t this office prove it?”

“They’re all the same,” the same soft voice promises.

“Like all clients?” a deeper, stronger feminine voice answers.

No reply.

I almost tell myself I can hear them. Almost say it out loud. But I bite it back. When the infrastructure of the city itself speaks, a man’s better off listening. Even if the story feels too familiar, even if it’s tattered, half-there, damp and dirty. It’s real. Dangerous. Necessary.

The pretty words that make people smile, that confirm suspicions without ever challenging them—those are the ones not to trust.

Those who have nothing to lose? They’ve got less reason to lie.

“It’s just… I’m tired. I don’t have answers, and neither do you,” the girl whispers. “Without evidence, more than words and whispers, we don’t have anything.”

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” the other woman challenges.

Silence follows, heavy enough to feel like another presence in the room.

I drag myself up from the floor and look at my desk. If anyone were to walk in right now, they’d see the scuffed, unkempt underbelly of the law. Underfunded. Purposefully left to rot so problems can be written off as liabilities. The people stashed here labeled biased, unreliable, maybe even insane.

My office is a projection of me: frazzled, disorganized, every flaw pinned up on the wall for strangers to stare at.

Chapter 03: Pets Are Happy

POV: Asami Freya

“Freya,” River says, catching me before I drift too far into Black Wire. Safe enough. Familiar. Normal. And normal is exactly what I need.

I’ve been trying to avoid strangers’ shadows, afraid I’ll get pulled into a bigger problem. The same way Liam pulled me into his orbit. His gravity shifted everything: my dancing path, my orbit around the sun. Now I bounce between him, trying to dodge the asteroids of his problems, basking in the warmth of his happiness, then darting away before the collision I’ve promised myself I’ll enjoy.

Only now there are more asteroids. And after pulling away from him piece by piece, forcing myself to accept that people are flawed, that they speak in fantasies and pretend they’re reality. I don’t know how to correct my path.

“Asami,” River says again, softer this time. She brushes her hand down my arm. “We deserve to survive. That’s it. That’s all I want for us.”

“It gets harder every day,” I whisper. “Every time you mention who’s missing. Every time you tell me Liam is dangerous, or Lacy is collapsing in on herself, or cutting you off… I wonder if being caged and ignorant would be easier. Pets are happy.” I shrug sadly, then take a breath. “And then, in bed, I see the life I want. If surviving is all we’re doing, why are we doing it this way?”

“Freedom,” River whispers. “When it’s taken from you, if it ever is, you’ll miss feeling. You’ll miss making choices. No matter how hard. And… this isn’t you. You’re not erratic.”

I want to argue, but I freeze. Across the street, a man is watching me while smoking. His eyes are sharp, intelligent. He’s well fed. His long coat could hide anything. Weapons, secrets, worse.

I’m tired. Tired of giving my softness to soothe someone else. Tired of carrying Liam’s vices in my purse and across my body, whether it’s his too-soft kisses along my neck or the bite marks he sometimes leaves behind.

“It would be easier if he were brutal,” I whisper. “Ugly. Terrible. Hurt me.”

“The most dangerous ones are beautiful,” River says quietly. “Tempting. They wrap manipulation in sweetness.”

The noose tightens around my neck.

“What if there are no easy answers?” I ask. “What if we’re right, and it’s Liam—or his family? What if we bring it up and all it does is put a spotlight on us? We’d be next. I don’t want anyone else to go missing, but…”

“But,” River echoes, nodding. No judgment in her voice, just the hardened determination of someone who’s already chosen survival.

I watch her rub an angry scar on her shoulder, the one she normally keeps covered.

Everything feels like an impasse. No clear path forward. No way to shed my skin and pretend I don’t know what Liam is capable of. No way to un-know that he cares for me more than he should. No way to ignore that we’re stuck.

“I need a drink. My head hurts,” I finally say.

“Pressure shifts,” River murmurs, glancing around. “I’ve got a client to see, and some things to do. Be safe.”

She walks away without saying goodbye. Goodbye means leaving, and River won’t leave me. That would leave a scar she couldn’t cover with makeup, couldn’t cut out with surgery.

River and I are too alike. She’s my mirror. The past version of myself I don’t want to admit still lives inside me. Torn. Rule-breaking. Wanting to see the best in others even when they disappoint me.

If I wait for the right moment, the right evidence, something tangible and irrefutable… I’ll wait until I’m the one trafficked. Until I’m locked in a box while Liam tells me it was a test. That he had to choose between his future and me. And the future is always surer than a Doll.

I swallow. I’m not sure which cage would be worse.

Chapter 04: Instinct Over Morals

POV: River

If Asami isn’t ready to read the writing on the wall, if she wants to blind herself, wait for the right moment, for evidence, for something tangible and irrefutable, she’ll wait until she’s the one being trafficked. Until she’s locked in a box while Liam tells her he was testing her. That he had to choose between his future and her. And the future is always more certain than a Doll.

I’m not willing to take that chance.

The dog that bites first is the dog that isn’t fucked with. The dog that snarls at every shadow gets left alone. That’s the dog that survives.

And me? I have to survive. That’s it.

It’s dirty, sure. Maybe not up to moral standards. But it’s instinct. Carnal. And I’ve got the determination to make it happen.

If I have to clear a week, chasing leads from other Dolls, gutting the problem before it reaches me, then so be it. With or without detectives, I’ll handle it my way. With cunning, relentless focus, and the violence Danger City pretends to condemn, even though the whole city was built on the bones of those who stood in the way.

I’m not breaking tradition. I’m continuing it. Women have always had to rely on themselves to scrape together the years they deserve.

So I will bare my teeth. And I will bite first.

Chapter 05: Regulars First, Outsiders Last

POV: Nathaniel Crowe

I finish talking to a Doll who swears her friend was taken to be sold. Taken to a building where she saw a Maddox Industries man. That kind of detail sticks.

And then I see him. Liam Maddox himself. Talking to a Doll who can’t keep still, her eyes darting around like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“We talked about this,” she says, and my ears prick. The same voice I heard outside my office. The one too nervous to reach out to me.

I take a step closer, lighting another cigarette I don’t need. The nicotine holds me together, gluing my parts into something that still functions.

“It’s not what you think, angel. I swear,” Liam says. “I just want to explain. Ease your mind. I hate seeing you like this. It’s not because—”

“I’m not avoiding you.”

“But you look at me differently,” he presses. “You don’t treat me the same. Do you want me to beg? Beg for your time? Beg you to listen?”

“I want space, Liam. If you’re willing to give me everything, then please, just…” A noise clatters behind her. She glances back, nervous. “I can’t forget what I heard. I need to make sense of things myself.”

She touches his shoulder, a fragile softness in her movement, then walks away into a bar called Black Wire. I’ve heard that name more than once. Too many Dolls I’ve interviewed mentioned it.

My gut tells me to follow.

The wrinkles between my brows mark every time I upheld protocol instead of instinct. If I’m going to make my badge shine the right way, through work, not higher-ups’ approval, I need to follow instinct this time.

Two Watchdogs are watching, but not Liam. Their eyes are on the girl. Whatever’s inside Black Wire, whatever’s pulling them, it’s a lead. One the glittering towers of Neon Heights would buy with pressure, violence, or cash.

The second the Watchdogs glance away, I move. Slip through the door.

Inside, I expected neon knives and sharp edges, but instead I find pointed glares and careful eyes.

The bartender watches me over his glasses, the lenses glinting just enough to hide what he’s thinking.

“Brandy or beer?” he asks.

“Brandy. And some answers would be best,” I say.

He studies me for a long beat, then pours heavy. Two fingers more than usual. A bartender worth the name can read a man’s sins in a second, pry them loose from a liquor-softened tongue. This one has that look. But there’s something heavier in him too. Potential energy. The kind of weight you only see in a sadist. One waiting for the right situation.

“Drinking’s better for your health than questions here… detective,” he says low.

Not that it matters. Eyes pin me from every corner of the room, like my gun and badge are lit up in neon.

I pay anyway, lean closer. “Getting answers that matter from people who matter more has always been bad for a man’s health.”

His mouth quirks, but his tone stays flat. “No business in my bar. None of the girls work while they’re here. No debts. No violence tolerated. Regulars first. Outsiders last.”

I don’t argue. My eyes scan the room, my shoulders tensing when I spot loan sharks I owe. They offered me a little once and took more back. Without my office, I’ve got nothing. And even with it? Not much more.

Work. Food. The occasional case wrapped years too late for it to matter to anyone but grieving parents. That’s all I have.

The girl’s voice cuts through the din again. She sits next to another woman, one weathered, steady. The second woman’s eyes land on me, while the first looks like she wants to escape her own body.

I drift closer, pretending to study the vintage music machine.

“He thinks he can fix it,” the younger one says, her voice cracking. “But I know what I saw. Lacy’s gone. There was a flyer for a gallery, and I recognized Maddox on the back. And Gemma.”

“I know,” the older woman answers.

“He said his father is bad. Said his father doesn’t like us together. Maybe now I’m just seeing things to justify it. Getting paranoid. It could be nothing, River. What if he’s just trying to pull his son out of the Fringes? What if we’re connecting things that don’t belong together?”

Her voice is choked. I know that sound. Betrayal is poison. It doesn’t kill fast. It spreads. Eats at you until you can’t tell which parts are yours anymore.

I consider stepping forward. But River—yes, that’s her name. Beats me to it. She takes the younger girl’s hand.

“Let me show you where Gemma said she was meeting someone before she stopped replying.”

“Why would we go there unless we want to dive into her fate?” the girl—Asami—asks. “If I wanted that, I’d let Liam take me to the Core and pray I could survive.”

“So we know what we’re facing,” River replies. “More than a smile and promises. Tell Rowan we’re leaving.”

Asami huffs, grumbles, but obeys.

River brushes my hip as she passes. Her gaze locks on mine. There’s no promise in it. Just recognition: one problem-solver seeing another. Scars spotting scars.

She trails her fingers across my back—permission, invitation, warning, all in one.

I shouldn’t follow. Shouldn’t even be here. Should report it up the chain.

But like an old police dog still used for tracking, I follow my gut.

Chapter 06: Follow Without Faith

POV: Asami Freya

I sit beside River, trying to calm the storm twisting in my chest. The Black Wire hums around us. It’s safe enough. Or at least, safe enough for now.

“He thinks he can fix it,” I say, my voice low, my eyes darting to the floor. “But I know what I saw. Lacy’s gone. There was a flyer for a gallery, and I recognized Maddox on the back. And Gemma.”

“I know,” River says, her voice steady.

I swallow. “He told me his father is bad. That his father doesn’t like us together. Maybe I’m just seeing things to justify it. Maybe I’m paranoid. What if it’s nothing, River? What if he’s just trying to pull his son out of the Fringes? What if we’re connecting ideas that don’t even belong together?”

The words choke in my throat. My chest feels poisoned.

Betrayal spreads slower than a knife wound, but it eats you deeper. It makes you question everything until you can’t tell what’s yours anymore.

River takes my hand. Her grip steadies me, even as her eyes darken.

“Let me show you where Gemma said she was meeting someone before she stopped replying,” she says.

“Why would we go there unless we want to dive into her fate?” I whisper. “If I wanted that, I’d let Liam take me home to the Core and pretend I could survive.”

“So we know what we’re facing,” she replies. “More than a smile. More than too-pretty promises. Tell Rowan we’re leaving.”

I sigh, huffing out a protest, but I obey. My shoulders rise with the weight of it.

As River brushes past a man by the jukebox, I notice her fingers trail across his hip. My gaze follows hers, and I see the wrinkles carved into his forehead, the kind that come from too many late nights with too little to show for them.

His eyes lock with hers, then shift to me.

It’s not trust. Not yet. But it’s something. A recognition. One problem-solver seeing another. His scars match the ones we carry, even if his are hidden beneath a crumpled shirt and a badge he probably hates as much as we do.

River’s fingers brush his back as we pass. An encouragement. A request. Not for trust. Not for faith. Just to follow.

And he does.

Chapter 07: The Absence of People

POV: Nathaniel Crowe

I keep my distance, letting them slip out of sight for moments at a time. Asami’s the type of siren who’ll shriek if she feels a bird watching her, let alone a man.

By the time we reach a broken-down part of town, my limp is showing. The place used to be a spa, then a brothel. Now it’s just hollowed out bones. My chest tightens with the sense that I’m intruding on something already claimed.

Asami freezes. On the ground lies a bracelet, familiar to her, and one platform heel tossed far from it. She stares like she’s seen this before. When her mother worked the brothels. Heavy shoes used as weapons, calling cards left behind. Proof of existence, because without proof, no one believes you.

“Gemma’s daughter made this for her,” Asami whispers. “She would never…” Her voice breaks.

Her hand slips into her purse and comes out holding a taser. It crackles in the dark, sharp and bright.

“Who are you?” she demands.

“Detective Crowe,” River answers for me, her face fierce, calm.

Asami trembles, every line of her body taut with fear.

River presses on. “Gemma Roberts is missing. She has a daughter. A brother who cares. She insisted on using a tracker so she’d never be lost. The tracker went dead here.”

I step forward anyway, more gutter than badge, but too far in to stop now.

“I’ve seen the absence of a lot of people,” I say. “Families afraid to say job titles, afraid to draft posters. Some don’t even bother. They know the fliers will end up in the garbage.”

“I have pictures of her,” Asami snaps. “She’s real. She—”

“Of course she is,” I cut in. “They all are. People don’t just get ‘better opportunities’ and vanish. They don’t make it out. But if we try to exhume every mystery, the dirt will give way, and we’ll fall straight into hell.”

River’s hands twitch. “She’s not staying missing. There’s evidence here. You know it, or you wouldn’t have followed.”

I pull out my phone, hesitate, then slide it back into my pocket. River steps sideways, then presses something under the stairs to the old lounge.

The wall peels away.

Not crates. Not storage.

Blood.

Droplets spattered clean, but too clean. The kind of clean that reeks. Gemma’s other shoe is here, splattered red, the blood flaking in brittle chips.

My mouth turns sour. I don’t look surprised. I’ve seen too much. But it doesn’t sit any easier.

Chapter 08: Knowing Is Better

POV: Asami Freya

The wall slides back, and my stomach drops.

There aren’t crates or storage shelves. Only droplets of blood. A room scrubbed too clean, the kind of clean that reeks of guilt. On the floor, Gemma’s other shoe waits for me, splattered and peeling with dried blood.

The taser slips from my hand, clattering to the ground.

“This can’t be real…” I whisper.

Detective Crowe steps forward, his face sour but unsurprised. He pulls a flashlight from his coat, then looks at me before he turns it on.

“Answers don’t fix things,” he says. “They tangle us. You can’t wish to unknow them.”

“It’s better than not knowing,” I snap, though my voice trembles. “Not knowing makes people go crazy. If you don’t care, then walk away. We don’t need you.”

“Believe me, I don’t need this either,” he says softly. “Rippers, missing Dolls, trafficked women. If any of those rumors get confirmed, it puts us all on a list. People who know too much. People who talk too loudly.”

A shiver rides down my spine, but my resolve lingers. If I don’t know the questions to ask, how can I ever make sense of anything? If the answer isn’t Liam, then I’m gutting my own happiness for nothing. If it really is his father, then I need to drag Liam aside, tell him we have to leave, and plan an escape.

Answers matter. Even the terrible ones.

“Knowing is better,” I say, my voice steadying.

Crowe nods once and clicks on his blue light.

Blood flares electric. Swipes, pools, stains no one else would notice. It’s everywhere.

“A fight,” he mutters. “This didn’t go as planned. Too much for one person. Multiple attackers. Men, judging from these prints. Women too. Small feet. First in heels, then barefoot. One woman wore only one heel…”

River’s face is stone, but I see it in her eyes: Gemma never would’ve left willingly.

Guilt rolls through my belly. How many women did Liam see while waiting for me? How many were caught in this storm because of me?

“The void here…” Crowe points to a gap in the stains. “There was a large crate. It would’ve soaked up blood. It’s gone now. River. Look down by your foot.”

I follow her gaze.

And then I see it.

The letters, smeared in thick strokes across the floor.

L… M… A… D… D… O…

My breath catches. My hand flies to my stomach, the other clamps over my mouth to stop the scream clawing its way out. My knees buckle.

River catches me before I hit the ground.

“He said it was his father,” I choke out. “But he… he knew. He knew.”

The last letter—the X—is ruined. But the name is clear enough. L. Maddox.

Someone left it here, written in blood. Someone named him.

“It gives us a starting point,” Crowe says grimly. “But going after Maddox is stepping into a grave.”

“I can’t,” I whimper, tearing myself out of River’s arms. “I… I can’t—”

I run, stumbling out of the spa, like the walls themselves are about to crush me.

Chapter 09: Life Takes

POV: River

Asami bolts, her sobs echoing down the hall until even the sound feels raw.

I stay. I always stay.

“Emotions are a curse,” I say quietly. “As much as apathy. At least apathy leaves us whole.”

Detective Crowe steps closer. “She knows a Maddox?”

“She’s tangled up in one,” I answer, my fists clenching. My hands want to tear at something. Anything. But my face stays calm. “She’s not ready to help.”

“Is anyone ready when the rug gets pulled out from under them?” he asks.

I meet his eyes. “Life doesn’t wait for anyone. It takes.”

He doesn’t argue. He can’t. He knows it’s true.

But I see the calculation behind his expression. He’s not here because of faith or justice. He’s here because something broke in him long ago, and now he’s trying to claw back scraps of meaning before it all rots.

Good. That makes two of us.

Chapter 10: More Work on the Horizon

POV: Nathaniel Crowe

If we have a lead, any lead, we have to take it. Not because it’s my job. My job is to bury this shit, keep the Core safe, and pretend the rest doesn’t exist.

But if I don’t push now, if I don’t do something, then I gave up my life for nothing.

“If she can get us information. If she can get us him. We move faster,” I tell River.

“Or we end up only visible under a black light,” she snaps back, eyes sharp, hands still twitching. “There’s no going back for me. I’d rather live a long life unsatisfied than a short one willfully blind.”

I rub the back of my neck. Her words cut, because I know she’s right. “More work on the horizon, then.”

River nods, then walks out. Her steps are steady, but I can hear the weight behind them. She’s already talking to Asami, her voice low, urgent.

And me? I remember.

I remember my own daughter. My sister. The women who came to me begging for help I couldn’t give until it was too late.

Doing something now won’t absolve me. It won’t balance the scales. It won’t erase the ghosts I carry.

But if I can put pressure on Liam Maddox… if I can even shift one tide in this city of rot… then maybe, just maybe, it’ll mean I didn’t waste everything.

The sirens outside scream. The ghosts inside whisper. And I decide to listen.