Case File: "Forest Investigation – Unnamed Client"
Date: July 2, 2025
Location: Outskirts of Pinewood Forest, United States
Investigator: Itsumi Matzuri
Formalities first. This is a record of the assignment received via anonymous email at approximately 10:17 PM. The client, whose identity remains undisclosed, has provided GPS coordinates leading to a remote section of Pinewood Forest. The message was brief, almost lazy, and offered a payment of $50,000 for the investigation of the specified area. No further details were given regarding the nature of the investigation, potential hazards, or the reason for such a generous sum.
Now, let's get real. I've been in this business long enough to know that when someone throws that much money at you for a job, it's never because they want you to find a lost cat. No, it's always something that could get you killed, or at the very least, make you wish you were dead. But here I am, because apparently, I'm either too stubborn or too broke to say no.
I parked my car at the edge of the forest, engine still ticking, headlights cutting through the darkness like two tired eyes. The air smells like wet earth and pine needles, and there's a chill that seeps right through my jacket. I hate forests. Too many bugs, too much mud, and way too many horror stories that start exactly like this. But hey, fifty grand is fifty grand. I keep telling myself that, as if repeating it will make this any less stupid.
Let's talk about the client for a second. No name, no phone number, just an email address that looks like someone mashed their keyboard and hit send. Classic. The kind of person who either has a lot to hide or just doesn't give a damn about formalities. Either way, it doesn't sit right with me. I've dealt with shady people before, but at least they usually have the decency to meet in a dark alley or a cheap diner. This? This feels like bait.
I check my gear: camera, flashlight, notebook, a half-eaten protein bar, and a flask of coffee that tastes like burnt rubber. I should probably have brought a gun, but I left that back in Mexico along with my last ounce of common sense. If I get eaten by a bear, at least I'll die caffeinated.
Honestly, I don't know what I'm supposed to find out here. The email didn't say "look for ghosts" or "find my missing dog." Just "investigate." That's about as helpful as a screen door on a submarine. Maybe they want me to find something illegal. Maybe it's just some rich idiot's idea of a prank. Or maybe—just maybe—there's something out here that nobody's supposed to see.
I'm writing this note as a record, in case I disappear and someone actually bothers to look for me. If you're reading this, congratulations, you're either my next of kin or some poor bastard who drew the short straw at the police station. Either way, don't bother looking for me. If I'm not back by morning, I'm probably fertilizer.
Alright, enough whining. Time to get moving. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can cash that check—or die trying.