July 19 – 10:34 PM – My Office, Clinic of Corrective Paths for the Formerly Flawed Sniper just knocked over my pen cup again. I can’t even pretend to be mad; she’s staring at me like she cracked a case I missed. Maybe she did. It’s been a weird week. And by weird, I mean…
Tag: Profiler
The cat and the box
03:09 AM – My Apartment, Coffee Cold, Dagger Warmer Sniper’s tail twitches like a metronome of doom. The new puzzle box sits on my counter, mocking me with its smug golden letters:“To Yoofi, with admiration and regret.” Regret? That’s how I feel every time I eat hospital cafeteria sushi. This is something darker. I sip…
Splinters and Sins
09:17 AM – The Clinic of the Damned, Office #3 Sniper is sitting on my desk, chewing on my pen. Again. “That’s government property,” I tell her. She blinks at me with her one good eye and drops it in my coffee mug like it’s a mafia hit. I sigh. “You could’ve at least used…
Ashes, lies & cat hair
08:03 a.m. – Clinic Office, Somewhere Between Despair and Expired Coffee Ruby jumped onto my desk, tail twitching like she was about to slap a demon. Or maybe just Martin Flores. Honestly, I’d support either. She knocked over my third cup of black coffee like it owed her money. “You’ve been listening to Flores again,”…
Strings attached
10:07 a.m. — Clinic break room Martin Flores is wedged into a plastic chair like a beach ball in a vise, licking powdered‑sugar crumbs off a fourth donut.“Budget’s tight, Akerman,” he wheezes. “Group therapy can’t be your private detective agency.”I smile, elegant and lethal in my black suit. If he knew about the pair of ceramic…
Slippers and Psychopaths
Yoofi Akerman’s Personal Case JournalEntry #47Location: That Damned Clinic / After-hours Pit of Despair * * * * * * 11:47 AM — Office, aka My Voluntary Cell Martin Flores smells like fried calamari and taxpayer regret. He waddles into my office, wiping grease on a form labeled “Budget Adjustments for Mental Wellness Incentives.” He’s…
Scalpels and Secrets
The day started like any other, Ruby the cat stole my last piece of turkey bacon, Martin Flores reeked of cinnamon donuts and bad intentions, and three former meth cooks scheduled back-to-back appointments to “just talk.” You don’t need a profiler’s intuition to know when they mean deal. But before I had time to caffeinate…
Stuffed with motive
8:12 AM — Clinic Lobby, Hell’s Reception “Morning, Dr. Akerman,” chirped Lydia at the front desk, chewing bubblegum like she wanted it to die. “Morning,” I replied, scanning her lavender scrunchie and ‘Hang in There’ kitten mug. I gave it a 30% chance of surviving this week. I swept past, black coat swishing, daggers sheathed…
Time’s up, Darling
Journal Entry #238 – Yoofi AkermanLocation: Crime scene tape and existential dreadTime: 3:47 a.m., but insomnia says hello There’s nothing quite like being woken at 3 a.m. by a phone call that starts with, “Yoofi, you’re gonna want to wear gloves.” I sat up, one eye open, the other still dreaming about tequila and silence….
Tick Tock, Psycho O’Clock
Journal Entry #237 – Yoofi AkermanLocation: My office, somewhere between sarcasm and despair.Time: 9:04 a.m., but my coffee says it’s 5 a.m. It started, as most bad days do, with an explosion and Martin Flores waddling into my office sweating like a busted pressure cooker. “Yoofi! What the hell did you do this time?” he…
The Sphinx 