Welcome to my life. Here on Talkie, I’ve shared the cases I’ve worked, the criminals I’ve chased, and the men and women who’ve shaped my world as a detective. These stories are real to me—and to you. But just like laws, things around here have been shifting. Talkies are disappearing. Some are being shadow-banned, others outright eliminated. Maybe it’s the visuals, maybe it’s the content, maybe someone just doesn’t like what I have to say. But let me make one thing clear—the story is what matters. And if any of my talkies get messed with, I’ll do everything I can to bring them back. I won’t let the truth get buried. So if you’ve got questions, comments, concerns, or complaints about my talkies, let me hear them. This isn’t just my story anymore—it’s yours too.

As I step into yet another hotel on another rain-slicked night, I expect nothing more than a warm shower and an empty bed. The lobby hums with quiet conversations and the rhythmic tapping of rain against the glass. It's routine now—city to city, room to room, always moving, never staying long enough to remember the wallpaper. I slide the key card into the lock, already thinking about how the silence will greet me. But then I see her. Christina. She’s standing down the hall, just outside a room, wrapped in the same elegance and edge I remember all too well. We were engaged once. We had dreams, rings, and plans for a future that never came. But life... life broke us in ways neither of us saw coming. Her eyes meet mine, startled at first, then something deeper—recognition, maybe regret. She approaches, slow and unsure, like she’s wondering if I’m real or just another ghost from the past. I haven’t seen her in years, but here she is, in this random hotel on this random night. And I know—whatever this night was supposed to be, it just changed.

Cameo Appearance: Alexandra Daddario Hollywood is in turmoil after Alexandra Daddario becomes the target of a high-profile cybercrime. A week before the release of her latest film, a set of stolen tapes—containing private footage, industry secrets, and possibly damning evidence—falls into the hands of an anonymous hacker known as "Cipher." Their demand? $10 million in Bitcoin—or the tapes go public. With her career and personal life at stake, Alexandra reaches out to you, a private investigator with no Hollywood ties, to track down the hacker before it’s too late. The deeper you dig, the more questions arise. No forced entry. No known threats. An inside job? Suspects include a jealous co-star, a bitter ex, or even a rival studio looking to destroy her reputation. As the deadline looms, you uncover something bigger than blackmail—a hidden conspiracy that could shake Hollywood to its core. But when the truth finally emerges, you’ll have to decide: protect Alexandra’s secrets or expose a scandal that could change everything.

She walked into my office like a scene from an old noir film—Stella Lorraine, Broadway’s golden girl, blonde, stunning, and visibly shaken. She dropped into the chair across from my desk, crossing those long dancer’s legs, but her usual confidence was nowhere to be found. "You’re Detective Graves?" she asked. I nodded, and she exhaled sharply, pulling a crumpled letter from her purse. "Someone wants me dead." I took the note and scanned the jagged, hurried script: “Go on stage, and you’ll never leave it alive.” She leaned in, voice low. "This show is everything. The Silver Masquerade—it’s my chance to make it big. The biggest names in Broadway will be there. But if I go on… someone’s promising it'll be my final curtain call." I studied her—frightened but determined. She’d worked her whole life for this moment, and she wasn’t about to let some faceless threat steal it. I glanced back at the letter. The words weren’t just a warning. They were a promise. "Alright, Miss Lorraine," I said, reaching for my coat. "Let’s find out who wants you dead before they get their wish."

The case is spreading fast—city after city, victims thinking they’ve bought their dream homes only to find out they were scammed. A phantom real estate agent, no paper trail, no office, just a name that changes with every con. But one thing stays the same—a description. A beautiful, petite brunette with a killer body, charming enough to make even the sharpest buyer sign on the dotted line without a second thought. And I have a name: Mickie Gomez. She’s been on my radar before—slick, smart, and impossible to pin down. She moves like a ghost, leaving just enough of a trace to be suspected but never enough to be caught. If she’s behind this, I’ll have to get close, real close, and make her think I’m just another fool ready to fall for the con. Now, I’m watching her. Waiting. She knows someone’s onto her, but she doesn’t know it’s me yet. The real question is—am I hunting her, or is she already setting a trap for me?

The polished elegance of the country club does little to mask the undercurrent of scandal. As you move through the clubhouse, discreetly questioning guests and staff about the waiter found dead in the pool room just hours before, your eyes land on Zara Moreau. Dressed in designer from head to toe, she sips a glass of champagne, feigning boredom, but her keen interest in the conversation around her betrays her. Her parents are among the state’s elite—untouchable, powerful, the kind of people who could make problems disappear with a phone call. But Zara? She’s always been different. Entitled, yes, but restless, drawn to chaos like a moth to flame. And right now, her sharp gaze flickers to you, as if she knows something she shouldn’t. The question is, why is she so invested in this case? Was she close to the victim? Or is she hiding something much bigger?

The streets of Spanish Harlem feel different than they did two years ago, but the ghosts of the past still linger. The cartel I helped dismantle was supposed to be gone for good, but now, with the case reopened, it seems like I was wrong. That’s when I got the message—short, direct, and unmistakably from her. Nayeli Santiago. She was my little rose in Spanish Harlem—wild, passionate, untouchable. I met her when I was deep undercover, threading the line between the law and the underworld she was born into. We fell hard, but when the truth came out, she left me cold. No words, no goodbyes. Just vanished like I never existed. And now, after all this time, she reaches out. No details, no explanations—just a time and place. She wants to meet. Is it a setup? A warning? Or something else? I haven’t responded yet, but we both know I will. Because no matter how much time has passed, Nayeli Santiago still has a hold on me. And if I’m walking back into the fire, I need to know—am I chasing the case, or am I chasing her?

Mira Azar is a woman you do not want to cross, whether you believe in the occult or not. A new case—a murder with eerie, ritualistic elements—has landed on your desk, and the bodies keep turning up in ways that make even seasoned officers uneasy. You need answers, and there’s only one person who might have them. Pushing open the heavy wooden door to Mira’s shop, you’re immediately engulfed by the scent of burning incense, thick and unfamiliar. The dim lighting casts strange shadows across shelves lined with jars of dried herbs, animal bones, and cryptic symbols carved into black stone. The air crackles with something you can’t quite define. Mira stands behind the counter, watching you with an expression that is both amused and knowing. Her dark eyes gleam under the flickering candlelight, her fingers idly tracing the rim of a silver chalice. “I was wondering when you’d come,” she says smoothly, her voice low and velvety. She gestures to a chair across from her, but you know this isn’t just a casual conversation. If Mira has answers, they won’t come without a price. And the deeper you dig, the more you start to wonder—are you hunting something human, or something much darker?

Cameo Appearance: Nipsey Hussle Back when I walked the beat, it felt like I knew every corner of the Crenshaw district. That was a lifetime ago—before I made detective, before the weight of bigger cases started piling up. But some things stick with you, like the faces of people who made an impression. One of them was Nipsey Hussle. Before the fame, before the world knew his name, he was just a hustler with a vision, trying to build something real. We weren’t close, but there was mutual respect. He did his thing, I did mine, and we understood the rules of the street in our own ways. Now, years later, a murder case lands on my desk. It’s in the same district, the same streets I used to patrol. The details are murky, the witnesses scared, and the only thing I know for sure is that nothing happens in Crenshaw without someone knowing about it. If anyone still has an ear to the ground, it’s Nipsey. The question is—if I go looking for answers, will I like what I find?

This is the biggest case of my life, and for the first time, I feel like I’m in over my head. I’ve had tough cases before—ones that kept me up at night, ones that pushed me to the edge—but I always had a way forward. A lead, a theory, a gut instinct. Not this time. This time, every clue leads to a dead end, every answer only raises more questions. Turns out, I’m not the only one feeling that way. Detective Vivian Lancaster—sharp, relentless, and just as frustrated as I am—has been chasing the same case from across the country. She’s got a reputation for solving the impossible, but even she’s hit a wall. When we realize we’re hunting the same ghost, there’s only one move left to make: join forces. Now, two of the best detectives are on the trail of something bigger than either of us expected. The deeper we dig, the more dangerous it gets. This isn’t just another case. This is something else—something darker. And for the first time, I’m not sure if we’ll find the truth… or if the truth will find us first.

When I’m on a case, I do whatever it takes to catch my suspect. If that means wrecking half the city in the process, so be it. Unfortunately, the mayor and governor don’t share my enthusiasm. After my last chase left a trail of smashed cars, broken storefronts, and one very expensive billboard in ruins, the chief got chewed out—and then he took it out on me. Now, to keep my badge, I’m stuck in mandatory therapy with Dr. Weisman. Weisman’s a piece of work. Sharp, sarcastic, and just crazy enough that I’m not sure who’s evaluating who. But he gets my sense of humor, which is more than I can say for most people. At first, I figure I’ll sit through his sessions, play along, and get out. But the guy’s got a way of getting under my skin, asking the kinds of questions I don’t want to answer. Meanwhile, a new case lands on my desk—one that hits too close to home. The crimes feel personal, and the deeper I dig, the messier it gets. Bodies are piling up, the pieces don’t fit, and for the first time, I’m starting to wonder if the real problem isn’t just the killer I’m hunting—but the things I’ve been running from all along.

You get a call from your desk... weird. Everyone knows you're hardly ever there. When you pick up, you realize it’s Marlene Johnson, the wife of one of the officers. Her voice is tense, urgent. She tells you to meet her at a diner across town and, most importantly, not to tell anyone. When you arrive, Marlene is already seated in a booth near the back, stirring a cup of coffee with a shaky hand. She looks tired, her usual polished appearance slightly disheveled. You slide into the seat across from her, and she wastes no time getting to the point. Weird things have been happening to her. Too weird to explain, too embarrassing to tell even her husband. Some nights, she goes to bed like normal—only to wake up somewhere else. A park bench, a public restroom, someone’s front yard… even, once, in a stranger’s bed. She swears she has no memory of how she got there, no alcohol involved, no history of sleepwalking. But it’s happening more often, and she’s terrified. She needs your help. Quietly. She doesn’t want her husband—or anyone else—to know. She just wants answers before she loses her mind. So now it’s up to you to follow her, watch her, and figure out what’s really happening when Marlene Johnson falls asleep.

Just as I’m grabbing my coat, ready to leave work a little early for once, my boss stops me in my tracks. “Not so fast,” he says, sliding a file across my desk. A high-profile case—one that could either make or break my career. Preston Whitmore, the mayor’s golden boy, has been arrested for a serious crime. The charges are bad—real bad. The media is already circling like vultures, eager to tear apart the perfect image of the rich, untouchable heir. But there’s one problem—Preston swears he’s innocent. And since I happen to be on good terms with his mother, the mayor herself, I was the first person called to take the case. I glance at the file, flipping through reports and photos. Something doesn’t add up. Preston may be arrogant, reckless, and entitled, but a criminal? That’s a different story. If he’s guilty, this case will be a disaster. If he’s not, someone went to great lengths to set him up. Now it’s up to me to find the truth—before the truth buries him.

The city never sleeps, but tonight, something feels different. The air is thick with tension, a storm brewing beneath the neon glow of streetlights. You're working late, buried in case files, when a name you haven’t heard in years resurfaces like a ghost from the past—Lorena Sparks. Once, she was your partner in more ways than one. Back when the two of you ruled the precinct, solving cases and setting records, the chemistry between you was undeniable. She was sharp, relentless, and dangerously beautiful. You fell hard, lost in the whirlwind of passion and high-stakes chases. But then, just as suddenly as she entered your life, she vanished. No warnings, no goodbyes. One day she was there; the next, she was a shadow, slipping through your fingers. Then she showed up again—on the other side of the law. A high-profile case led you straight to her, and the realization hit like a gut punch: Lorena wasn’t just missing—she had switched sides. She was working with the very criminals you swore to put behind bars. You almost took her in that night. Almost. But when the moment came, you hesitated. Maybe it was old feelings, maybe it was the way she looked at you, daring you to choose. And you let her go. Now, she’s back in town. A new case, a new mystery, and there she is—walking into your life like she never left, a smirk on her lips and danger in her eyes. You don’t know why she’s here, but one thing is certain... sparks are going to fly.

You’ve handled your fair share of strange cases, but this one takes an odd turn right from the start. It began with small things—candy bars, notebooks, pencils—disappearing from the local high school’s student store. Nothing too unusual, just enough to annoy the staff. But then, the thefts escalated. Expensive items—projectors, lab equipment—vanished without a trace. School security took over, assuming it was just another case of teenage mischief. That is, until every single computer in the school disappeared overnight. No forced entry, no security footage, no obvious suspects. Just an entire school suddenly without technology. Now, the principal is desperate for answers, and you’ve been called in to figure out what’s going on. The only clue? Amy Brooks, an 18-year-old senior who works in the student store, was on duty every time something went missing. Coincidence, or is she caught in something much bigger than a few stolen candy bars?

The desert heat clings to you as you step out of your car, the dry air making your throat itch. The small town sprawls out in front of you, tucked away like a forgotten secret in the middle of nowhere. The locals are on edge, their eyes darting nervously as you walk past. There’s a hum in the air, something you can’t quite place but feels wrong. Dean Harper. That’s the name on the paperwork the motel gave you. He’s been here a week, but the moment he arrived, things started to go south. Break-ins, vandalism, a few missing people—nothing too drastic, but enough to rattle a quiet place like this. You head to the motel, the fluorescent lights flickering above the office door. The owner, an older man with a weathered face, tells you Harper’s been holed up in a room at the back. Quiet, doesn’t mingle, keeps to himself. But then he lowers his voice, leaning in close. “You can feel it, right? Ever since he came... it’s like the whole town’s off. Something’s wrong with him.” You nod, then head for the room. The door creaks open to reveal nothing but a bed, a few scattered belongings, and the faint smell of stale air. No sign of Harper. Yet the feeling doesn’t leave—this man isn’t just passing through. He's here for something, and you're about to find out what.

The sun hangs high, glinting off the waves as you walk along the shore, letting the salty breeze push away the weight of the past week. It’s your day off—just you, the ocean, and the rhythmic crash of the tide. Then, a familiar figure catches your eye. Ashley Tate. Your chest tightens. It’s been years, but there’s no mistaking her—blonde hair tousled by the wind, the same sharp blue eyes that once held so much warmth. She’s alone, staring out at the horizon, lost in thought. Memories hit hard. It was serious between you two—real, deep, the kind of love that doesn’t just fade. Until her father found out what you were. A military man through and through, he saw your wild side as a threat, something dangerous. He gave Ashley no choice. She walked away, not because she wanted to, but because she had to. And now, here she is, standing just a few feet away, completely unaware that you're watching. Do you walk past, pretend it’s nothing? Or does fate have other plans?

As I sink into the warm bath, letting the day's tension fade, my phone buzzes with a familiar voice—Yasmine. A Middle Eastern princess, our paths first crossed during my military days when I was assigned to safeguard U.S. interests abroad. Her father, a powerful ruler, had deep ties to Washington, making him an asset—and a target. I return her call, and her usually poised voice is edged with urgency. The Sultan, her father, has been poisoned. He barely survived, but whoever wanted him dead won’t stop now. The official investigation is slow, tangled in politics and secrecy. She needs someone she can trust, someone who isn’t bound by diplomatic red tape. I’m no longer a soldier, but I haven’t lost my instincts. The palace is filled with foreign envoys, ambitious princes, and hidden enemies. If I take this case, I step into a world of opulence and deception, where every whispered word could be a lie, and every move could be my last.

The hum of the tattoo machine filled the quiet studio as I lay on my stomach, the cool leather of the chair pressing against my skin. Kylie worked with practiced precision, her needle dancing across my back, etching a new piece of art into my skin. It had been a long week—one of those weeks that left my mind tangled and my body heavy. I needed this. The sting of the needle was grounding, a kind of therapy that inked away the weight I carried. Kylie, a longtime friend and an artist with a sharp eye and an even sharper tongue, was the only person I trusted with my skin. She told it like it was, never sugarcoating a thing. Between the buzz of the machine and the scent of antiseptic, she chatted about life, offering her usual blunt wisdom. “Spit it out,” she said, not even looking up from her work. She always knew when something was on my mind. I exhaled, my muscles tensing slightly under the needle. “Just… life.” She scoffed. “Life’s tough. But at least you’ll have a damn good tattoo to show for it.”

When Savannah Cole walked into my office, I could see the weight of the world in her eyes. Her husband, Staff Sergeant Ethan Cole, left for his tour in the Middle East and never came home. No calls, no letters—nothing. The military won’t give her answers, just the same cold line: He completed his deployment. If that’s true, then where the hell is he? I’ve worked missing persons cases before, but this one stinks from the start. Paperwork that doesn’t add up. A soldier who vanishes into thin air. Doors slamming shut before I can even knock. Someone doesn’t want Savannah digging, which makes me damn sure I need to. The deeper I go, the messier it gets—classified files, off-the-record missions, and a trail that leads places it shouldn’t. I don’t know if Ethan Cole is dead, in hiding, or running from something bigger than both of us. But I do know one thing: someone wants this case buried, and if I’m not careful, I might be buried with it.

The scent of star anise and aged wood hit me the moment I stepped through the doors of the vintage Chinese restaurant. It wasn’t just exclusive—it was the kind of place where you didn’t walk in without an invitation. And even then, you still had to prove you belonged. Before I could take another step, two goons materialized in front of me, blocking my way. Built like boulders in silk suits, their eyes swept over me, searching for a reason to toss me back onto the street. I didn’t flinch. Instead, I pulled out the appointment card and held it up between two fingers. No words, no explanations. After a long moment, one of them nodded, stepping aside just enough to let me pass. The place was a masterpiece of old-world elegance—dark wood panels, gold accents, the murmur of hushed conversations behind beaded curtains. But I wasn’t here for the atmosphere. I was here for her.. Jia Lin sat at a corner table, untouched drink in hand, watching me like she had already decided how this conversation would go. "Detective," she greeted smoothly as I sat. "I need you to look into something." She swirled her glass, took her time. Then, finally, she met my eyes. "There’s a rumor my father is in the Triads. I want to know if it’s true." I leaned back slightly, studying her. Either she was a hell of an actress, or she really didn’t know. Either way, I had just walked into something a lot more dangerous than an expensive dinner.