The drinks fizzed gently.
The screens blinked.
The station was still quiet.
Then 777 leaned back, cracking his knuckles. "We're in."
"Good," Rick muttered. "Now we just need to know if Tobey's here."
777 started combing through security footage manually, his eyes darting between windows on his screen. Rick didn't say a word—just placed a hand on 777's shoulder, pulled out Jennifer's offline module, and plugged it into the laptop.
777 didn't argue. Just nodded. "Alright, Jennifer. Take the wheel."
"Footage received," Jennifer said, her voice smooth as ever. "Running facial pathfinding algorithm."
The screen flickered—then played a clip.
There they were.
The masked figure, carrying Tobey in their arms. Calm. Controlled. Almost... gentle.
"Okay, well. Guess we know their gender now," 777 muttered, watching the posture, the build.
Rick squinted. "Yeah. I'm thinking it might be the same lady from before."
"The one in the biker suit?"
"I think so," Rick said, voice sharp. "But there's a drastic change in her outfit this time."
"Maybe she just switched to Tokyo streetwear or some layered alt-core shit. Why does it matter?" 777 asked, genuinely confused.
Rick shot him a look. "We still haven't seen her face. Clothing is the only consistent tell we've got. And look at what she's wearing—oversized trench coat, layered textures, turtleneck, pleated skirt, long coat… white split-toe boots, and a statement bag. It's carefully curated but messy. Goth Tokyo drip."
"Damn," 777 said. "That's a good use of brain."
Rick stood up, stretching his arms over his head, letting out a long breath.
"Rick," 777 said, voice suddenly tight. "You need to look at this."
Rick turned. "What now?"
"See what she just bought from the vending machine."
Rick's eyes narrowed.
He stared at the screen.
"…Same drink I bought," he muttered.
777 nodded. "Yeah."
Rick stood frozen, just staring at the footage. His expression shifted—tightened. Like his brain suddenly walked into a memory he wasn't ready for.
"No," he whispered.
"What happened?" 777 asked.
Rick didn't answer right away.
Then, with a voice colder than before:
"…Nothing. Just some weird scenario came to mind."
777 leaned back, eyes still scanning footage. "Mysteries keep stacking. Some of them don't even want to get solved."
Rick sighed, the kind of sigh that felt like it belonged to someone older, heavier than him. "Yeah. Some of them won't, even if we close this case."
A long pause.
"What's the next step?" 777 finally asked.
Rick looked around the fog-slicked platform. "Search here. First, where are we?"
777 tapped his cracked screen. "Somewhere in Kobayashi."
Rick raised a brow. "Somewhere?"
"GPS is acting weird. Terrain's messy. Mountains all around. Probably some hilly outskirt," 777 muttered.
"I can also tell we're in the hills," Rick said flatly.
"Then why'd you ask?"
Rick gave him a side glance. "Why are you asking so many questions today?"
777 shut up immediately.
In his head: "Yep. He's Rick again. Time to stop asking questions."
Rick stepped off the bench, flicking the empty can into a trash chute like it had wronged him.
"Let it be. Let's go."
777 followed, muttering under his breath. "I swear, if he says 'abandoned village,' I'm out."
Rick: "Search in the abandoned parts of town or villages."
"Goddammit," 777 groaned. "Why?!"
Rick didn't even look back. "Instinct."
777's eye twitched. "Of course. Of course it's instinct. Why not."
The engine growled low as they rolled down the winding road, each turn carving through layers of fog like a knife through old silk.
Through the windows, the town came into view.
Except... it didn't feel like a town.
More like a memory someone tried to forget but couldn't delete.
Crumbling buildings leaned sideways like they'd been punched by time. Roof tiles hung loose. Windows boarded up with uneven planks. Some still had curtains—torn, faded, swaying like ghosts trying to breathe.
A rusted convenience store sign blinked weakly.
Just three flickering letters left: __N-K M_R_
Everything else? Gone. Lost. Dead pixels in real life.
Telephone poles bent inward along the road like they were trying to warn them:
"Turn back."
Overhead, birds didn't fly.
Just wires. Tangled.
And silent.
777 looked up from his laptop.
"Bro… this place got hit with a vibes nuke."
Rick didn't respond.
Eyes locked forward, cigar hanging from his mouth like he was chewing the past.
Then—
A figure shifted in one of the upper windows.
Barely visible.
Gone the second it was seen.
"Did you see—" 777 started.
"No," Rick said before 777 could finish.
Voice dead.
Eyes colder.
They kept driving.
And the town kept watching.
The hills curled tighter around the road.
Like the terrain was folding inward, trying to keep them.
777 broke the silence.
"What do you think we're up against this time?"
Rick didn't blink. "Last time, tech broke. Now it's GPS. It's not biology this round—it's something else. Terrain interference maybe, but I'm not betting on that."
"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock Homescreen," 777 muttered.
Rick paused for half a beat.
"Ever heard of Murphy's Law?"
"No. Why?"
"…Good."