Tokyo, Japan.

Neon lights bragged in the faces of anyone who walked its busy, narrow streets. Holograms of advertisements would play from businesses above, advertising their products in a minute or less, only to repeat it's deal once more. Some would be of beautiful women, wearing scantily clad clothing, or whimsical characters from religious symbols to creatures of fantasy. Skyscrapers towered over any passerby, making one question their significance in such a vast landscape.

Gold and white luminescence shined through most of the tower's vast number of windows, but these artificial lights were the only thing igniting one's surroundings. The sky had been dense with depths of black, the clouds likely concealing the beautiful nature of the sky above. Superficial commercialism dominated over natural beauty on this night and no other city could compare to its domineering glow.

It had been nearly three in the morning and alone down a one lane street drove a black 1970 dodge challenger, its headlights illuminating the old, crooked road ahead, the gentle sounds of tires rolling over potholes filling the air.

"You know, I've never seen anything like it. You would think he'd be going after the hookers near Yakuza territory, not beloved celebrities in downtown Tokyo." A deep, husky voice mused from within the vehicle. This voice belonged to the driver and top detective of Tokyo's precinct, Hiroki Akiyama. The man had rose to the top of his field, a highly respected idol within the force. But, he didn't quite have the formality to back it up.

He filled his seating out wide, his elbow occasionally bumping into the door on his left side. Dark locks would occasionally brush over his vision, causing the man to adjust his hair tie with one hand. Flecks of gold glimmered due to the streetlight's reflection in his eyes, though they only peeked through a narrow stare. His lips occasionally pursed, dissipating as his cheeks puffed out subconsciously.

The detective kept his top loose, two buttons left untouched, tucked into black dress pants. Hiroki would occasionally tug at his suspenders, the tightness feeling more constraining than Akiyama's usual attire.

"It isn't really all that complicated." A flat voice droned out in response, a soft sigh slipping past the keeper of the speaker.

"Oh, how so?"

"Well, some killers like to play it safe. In fact, most do. As you pointed out. It's easy to go after a prostitute. More convenient. Its easier to seclude one and they likely have nobody who cares enough to fight for their vengeance. But, some serial killers like a harder catch. They also will take a higher risk if it means a higher reward. Especially if they are confident in their craft."

Hiroki chuckled in response, fingers lightly tapping at his steering wheel.

"Their craft?" He asked.

"I assume that for a killer of this degree, he would consider it more of a craft than a high."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Some killers care more about the physical release of ending a life. It gives them a dopamine release, a high. But for a killer going around slashing up celebrities, I'm sure he cares more about the quality, the outcome. Not the superficial and momentary sensation of ending a life. If that were the case, he would play it safe, wouldn't he?"

Hiroki pretended to contemplate the point in his head, eventually shrugging in response before taking a right turn onto a more common road used for work commutes, leading them straight through a surrounding of skyscrapers and nightclubs.

"I guess. But how do you know the perpetrator is male?"

"Its just a blanket assumption really. Most serial killers are male so I'm assuming he's got a dick." The soft voice simply replied.

The voice in question belonged to none other than Oliver Young, an ironically younger man who filled out the remaining space of the car evenly, balancing out the room in the vehicle just a bit. Being just twenty five years of age, he was one of the youngest detectives in the precinct.

Dark circles were visible, shadowing the glowing green hues that would focus on ahead. But aside from that, his skin had been mostly free of imperfections, his full lips occasionally parting whenever he grew just a little too lost in his thoughts. However, his final facial disfigurement; a thin scar from the left side of his lower lip that led down to his chin. He had softer features in comparison to his partner, giving him an even more boyish youth to match his age. His hair was more well kept, wavy obsidian locks falling down just below his brow bone while the rest of his hair was left down to his ear lobe in length.

Oliver had stared ahead a moment, then blinked, sending a small glare to his larger counterpart.

"You're busting my balls aren't you?"

A soft laugh came from Hiroki in response as they cruised through the city, raising his brows as he remained focused on the road.

"What makes you say that?"

"You are the top detective in our precinct. You already know all of this."

"I'm just making sure your heads clear."

"No. You're busting my balls."

Oliver rolled his eyes and rested his head on the cars window, slipping a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Hiroki meanwhile glanced over, a soft smile on his lips.

"You're still pissed at me, aren't you?" Hiroki asked.

"Why would I be pissed at you?"

Hiroki knew that Oliver was aware of the answer. The young detective just wanted Hiroki to say it himself. He obliged, a soft sigh escaping the handsome man's lips beforehand.

"Because of last night."

"What about last night?"

"Because some random girl hit on me. Are you really so possessive?" Hiroki furrowed his brows, but avoided eye contact.

This further irritated Oliver, causing him to not even bother rolling down the window as he pulled out a white lighter, sparking it just before the tip of his cigarette. Taking a quick drag before resting the hand wielding the stick of tobacco against his thigh, he stared ahead, eyes narrow as he avoided eye contact as well.

"I'm not being possessive. I can't control my annoyance and I planned to keep it to myself until you decided to fuck with me as if you were completely oblivious of my obvious irritation. So, if you want to know why I'm pissed at you, it isn't because some girl tried to bang you, it's because you proceeded to mess with me after the fact." Oliver ranted on.

"Sounds pretty highschool to me."

Oliver then glared back over, his stare piercing into the man.

"You brought it up. Now can you shut the hell up and tell me where the file on this case is before I put this cigarette out on your hand?"

Hiroki rolled his eyes with another laugh, causing Oliver's eye to twitch as he didn't break eye contact.

"It's in the backseat. In my bag."

Oliver frowned a little, pausing before turning his back to reach his arm for the black backpack in the backseat of the car. He pulled the moderately heavy object into his lap, sliding open its slit and rummaging through before tearing out a tan folder. Once retrieved, he dropped the bag between his legs on the floor, taking another drag of his cigarette before carelessly opening the folder. Oliver breezed through it, his tired eyes focusing on the important details of their case.

"So, what are we dealing with here?" Hiroki suddenly spoke up, his voice a bit more flat and serious than prior.