The apparent vanishings of men and women from around Metro City had the police baffled. It had started as the disappearance of a runaway girl, sadly not worth the media's attention, but now over time nearly 100 people had simply vanished with no leads. In some cases, clothing had been left behind, but there was never any forensic evidence or blood that would tell investigators what had happened. Life in the city, however, continued unabated, although fearful whisperings had begun among the populace. Don't go out at night, stay together, and be suspicious of everybody.
* * *
"Do you believe this shit?!"
The bellows from Chief Hanlen's office had become so much of a regular occurrence that the rest of the precinct hardly noticed anymore. Beyond the locked glass door, with his best detectives, the grizzled veteran of the force clutched a newspaper in a shaking hand before throwing it down on his desk in rage.
"A name..." The Chief said in exasperation, reaching for the Advil in his desk drawer. "They gave the son of a bitch a name."
On the desk, the Metro Sun's headline screamed THE COLLECTOR STRIKES AGAIN! in bold letters. Detective Adam Krosky picked up the paper and scanned the front page, snorting derisively.
"It's all fluff." Krosky said with a head shake. "Sensationalist bullshit."
"I'll tell you what, Detective, in about an hour the Commissioner is going to pick up his morning paper from the front step, and about five minutes later I'm gonna get one hell of an angry phone call." The Chief slumped forward in his chair and sighed heavily. "We need leads."
"It would help if anybody had come forward." Dianne Partridge was second only to Krosky as the best Detective in the precinct. Maybe the district. Renowned for her ability to see the facts through bullshit, she had risen through the ranks quickly to the adulation and resentment of her male peers. "Why don't we look at the last few cases, so if there's something we missed."
"Normally I'd say it's a waste of time." Krosky nodded slowly. "But we can afford to go over it again."
"All right." The Chief nodded, pointing a cautious finger. "But I need something. We're gonna see a shit storm over this and I can guarantee all our asses are on the line. Mine, yours, the beat, everybody. Start with a fine tooth comb and then work with a damn microscope if you have to. Get some results."
"On it, Chief." Krosky grabbed his hat and patted Partridge on the shoulder. "Come on, partner. It's gonna be a long day."
* * *
Uptown, the rich district. An endless line of perfectly manicured lawns in front of giant houses and big steel gates punctuated the gentle chirp of birds. A white APS Delivery van sat parked in front of the biggest of the houses. The driver stepped out carrying a small package, a balding fat man shoved into a blue uniform that seemed to strain against his body. He adjusted his glasses in the sunlight and approached the gate. As usual, he had to speak to the maid through the intercom and have himself buzzed in. The big wrought iron gate swung freely by itself and he approached the ornate front porch.
The maid, a Mexican woman in her late thirties. Clearly attired to her station. "I sign, sir."
"Sorry, miss." The man lisped, slovenly wiping his nose with one hairy arm. "Company policy. I need Mr. Trent's signature."
The door closed and moments later an old man in a velvet smoking jacket emerged, the white hair on his head matched by an impressively kept moustache. "No, no, quite all right Wuanita." The old man waved his hand. "Rules are rules."
The delivery man passed over a clipboard and a pen and waited for the old man to sign, a sinister smirk playing on his pudgy face.
"W-What..." The multi-millionaire Arthur Trent, heir to the Trent family fortune and ruthless businessman, staggered and dropped the clipboard. The maid rushed to his side only to elicit a scream as she grabbed his hand, finding his fingers turned to cold scaled lizard flesh and his fingernails rapidly turning to claws. The maid threw herself back in revulsion and terror, watching with wide eyes as Mr. Trent rapidly turned inhuman, being overtaken by green lizard skin and rapidly shrinking in size. In seconds, the man was no more, and struggling in a pile of clothes was a simple green and brown lizard, no more than six inches long.
The maid stared at the delivery man in terror and shook her head in terror, uttering a prayer in her native tongue.
"I'm sorry, Wuanita." The man said in a cold, almost entirely different voice. "I can't have any witnesses. I'll make sure you're well cared for."
"No, no, Senior!" She protested, trembling, but the steel dart from the driver's concealed pistol had already struck her neck. The maid's eyes went wide and then shut as she collapsed in a heap in the foyer. The driver had already scooped up the hissing and struggling Mr. Trent, and placed him in a glass jar he had been hiding in his fanny pack before she hit the ground.
By the time the assailant looked back to the maid, she was already half her normal size and shrinking quickly along with her clothes. Her tanned flesh was hardening to plastic and as she reached three inches tall, lying paralyzed, the driver plucked her tiny toylike form from the floor and pocketed it.
"Arthur?" A female voice, Mrs. Trent. "What was that screaming about?" By the time she reached the top of the ornate stairs the driver was already gone, but he was no longer the fat man. Only a pile of clothes and an expensive smoking jacket, hastily kicked into a corner, were the only signs of something more sinister.
A trim and athletic male in her forties approached the delivery van and quickly exited the street. The man merged onto the next avenue and smiled, plucking the plasticized maid from his pocket and placing her tiny form on the passenger seat. Still very much alive, a quick soak in the antidote would return her to flesh and grow her back to normal.
"Perhaps I'll add you to the others." The Collector laughed.
* * *
"A lizard, Pablo!" Mrs. Trent shook her head. "Do you realize what madness you speak?"
"Is true, seniorita Trent!" The cook insisted, still trembling in a warm sweat. "I swear on my life!"
"You're fired." The woman said simply, coldly, and with a snarl of disdain. "And if you talk to anybody, breathe a word of this madness to anyone, I will relate how you've been caught drugged out of your mind. And who will believe you? Now pack your things and get out!"
"Si." Pablo said quickly, submissively, and gulped as he sped away under the withering gaze of his now former employer.
This time it was different. Somebody had seen.