There are always pedestrians running around in the valley of Munich. No matter if it is the weekend or during the week, they are busy exploring the city, going shopping or simply sitting in one of the local restaurants, enjoying a beer.

Many companies rent offices there, and the magnificent entrance halls or the high-quality refurbishment of the office floors indicate how famous these companies exactly are.

Looking through an antique wooden-framed window onto the tower of the Saint Peters Church on the Viktualienmarkt in Munich shows this is a rather posh part of the city.

The sun shone bright and relentlessly through the blinds which she just let down. It forced Anne to get up to shut them a bit further.

She played an alleged heavy-metal song, which almost sounded too calm and peaceful to be categorised as such, in the background while she chatted with her other virtual friends online.

Although Anne was not a groupie of this band, it was one of the reasons for her eclectic taste in music. Listening to this particular song was once part of some research she had to do.

Anne was already in her thirties but looked, thanks to mother nature, still like she was seventeen. Many were surprised when they found out her actual age. Some even thought, she faked her ID.

While she pressed the button on the wall to correct the positioning of the blinds, she received more messages from other chat members.

Her right hand showed signs of abuse which she had to go through a few years ago. During her work as a hacker, she stepped on someone’s toes a bit too much. This unfortunate encounter left her with scars on her right hand and a missing pinkie finger. She no longer missed the lost finger while typing on her keyboard.

However, in some bad moments when she looked down on her hand, all the memories came back of how she sat in a dark and dusty basement in Switzerland. Being tied to a chair, she was beaten hard and had to beg for her life.

A memory of the emerald ring of a lawyer on the ring finger of whoever hit her on her right cheek was carved into her mind like marble. The small scar on the corner of her eye made sure she would not forget this day although she got lucky in the last minute.

‘It’s already the third dog which came to an end like this. This man is a monster.’ This post popped up showing the avatar of ALize, who wrote this statement.

The blinds crunched on and had a hard time turning the blades.

For a short time, Anne massaged the point where she lost her finger. Sometimes, she had a few cramps at this spot.

‘I always knew it will be a person eventually.’ BetaMoron undermined her statement with a crying Emoji.

The message, which summoned this online circle, was the confirmation of the suicide of a woman in Wolfratshausen. Her depression eventually ended her life for her.

Finally, the blinds were in the right position. Anne’s finger hurt a bit because of the restive knob.

‘Franzi’s depression got bad since Basco got shot, she did nothing but crying all day long. We chatted a few times.’ ALize probably worked out more than there actually was about this virtual friendship, but at least she was the only one who felt like contradicting this statement.

A few thumbs-ups, crying Emojis or Emojis with a sad face were proof that many people read the post and expressed their sympathy.

Anne dropped a request in another window and found out that there actually were more than five-hundred messages between Franzi and ALize. This evaluation did not state whether the statements matched or if the response actually considered the alleged friend but apparently, their paths actually crossed. Anne looked up the IP address of both participants and could confirm again that they did talk to each other.

‘ALize, who will look after her little puppy now?’, asked BetaMoron.

‘I think it is with a friend. I didn’t read anything about it actually.’

In this chat forum, Anne’s pseudonym was Fanny. Every day, she created new profiles online in different chats and on social media sides to get information about what happens worldwide.

‘But Basco was old. Which puppy are you talking about, Beta?’ Anne wanted to find out more as she didn’t know this part of the story.

‘The perpetrator or his friends bought a puppy for her as a replacement for Basco. The problem is, you can replace things, but not trust and confidence’, stated BetaMoron. The term confidant is mostly used in the Dragons and Dungeons game but not really for animals, which are attached to its master mentally. Anne assumed that BetaMoron was a role-player. In another window on her desktop, she looked up the name BetaMoron and immediately found it where she thought it would be.

‘But how sure can you actually be that the hunter shot the dog deliberately?’, interfered Anne again. Her avatar was a pink unicorn with blue wings. ‘In her suicide note, Franzi stated his name. Apparently, she already blamed him for animal cruelty before, but no one ever did anything.’ BetaMoron seemed really invested in this topic. She also posted a link which leads to Franzi’s suicide note. She uploaded this letter shortly before her death to her profile.

A picture of the hunter next to the head of the police of this district indicated his great relationship to the municipality and the local politicians.

‘He’s probably caudate with an inferiority complex who lets it out on those poor animals.’ ALize was not very sensitive when picking her words. Her avatar was a pirate with a raised sword, which put further pressure on the conversation. In yet another window, Anne looked up animal abuse in this district. She wasn’t overly surprised to find more than a thousand hits on this topic. She refined her search and set a date to make sure the emotions in this chat didn’t mix up with weird statements of some trolls. There were still more than three hundred cases. She searched for reoccurring terms and found that Peter-Anton, as well as the hunting association “Holy Hubertus” came up frequently.

The song in the background came to an end. The next one had more bass and the high-pitched voice of a girl who apparently reached maturity.

‘How old was Franzi?’, asked Anne’s avatar.

‘Her neighbour released a death notice. Click on this link here.’ BetaMoron attached a link to her message. Anne clicked on it, and the picture of a sixty-year-old woman appeared. She stood next to a golden retriever which apparently died shortly before her.

‘They are reunited now’, stated Anne together with a crying Emoji.

‘I will get my ass off of my chair and drive over to the funeral. It will be in the village next to mine, and I have nothing else to do. I have to protest against this prick.’, ALize posted a sticker of a banana shaking her ass to make her statement a little bit funnier.

‘I didn’t know Franzi, but I will post an E-card on her profile.’

‘Beta, you can do something as well and send a sympathy card to the funeral, and yes, you did know Franzi as well. We talked a few times about the campaign against halal meat on ‘Freunden-Haus’’, ALize seemed very determining. ‘Freunden-Haus’ is the name of a chatroom for people from the area who talk about local matters.

‘Oh, her, yes. You are right.’

‘I can’t come. It’s too far away for me’, lied Anne, as always. Sometimes, she couldn’t determine what reality was and what’s not, and because she had so many different avatars and invented so many stories, she even dreamt about other personalities. Just one thing helped her keeping her true identity. The blue unicorn with its pink wings, which she always selected as her profile picture.

‘I could kill myself’, said ALize.

‘I have to go back to work’, Anne responded and ended it as always with ‘CU’, signalising that she would be back soon. Usually that’s not the case.

As always, Anne deleted her profile with the name Fanny and started the process of creating a new one. During this process, she inspected the incident she just discussed with the others in the chatroom.

Apparently, Peter-Anton was a cruel guy who killed a dog named Basco out of revenge. The owner suffered severe depression after that and poisoned herself with pills which lead to her death. A neighbour found her dead body one day later.

‘A sad case, just like many others in this world where cruel things happen every day’, she thought.

On her desktop, she had a few neatly organised folders, and one of those folders was named Peter-Anton. She put the protocols of chats which she visited and some documents she found online in this folder. Anne was very fussy about putting pictures, news clippings and other links in an organised order. Everything had to be ordered by date as well.

Earlier cases of animal cruelty were marked on a card which also showed potential connections to the hunter’s association of Peter-Anton. She drew circles around the area where he lived and where this association was based.

The door of her office stood slightly ajar before it was opened completely, and a small man walked straight through it.

“Do you have anything new?” Gutto, the scene builder of the model agency “The Valley” came into her office.

“Damn. One day you’ll kill me.” Anne was obviously shocked by Gutto’s sudden appearance. The music in the background drowned almost every other noise close to the office.

“Did you watch online porn? Naughty girl”, Gutto laughed about scaring Anne. His half-closed eyes should emphasise his predatory assumption.

Anne put her hair up today. Her black curls with red highlights were placed on top of each other elegantly. It reminded a little bit of a statue of a fury.

“Only perverted men like you and your husband would do that. I’m looking for details about asuicide and the poor dog which was killed in Wolfratshausen.”

Anne couldn’t stand animal cruelty and hunters, but Gutto became actually furious every time.

“I hate hunters. They claim to help the environment although they actually destroy it.”

“This here is a special case. Cruelty is just one part of how he harms our environment.

Gutto was a small man who looked friendly even when he was actually furious.

“I wanted to send the file over to you and your husband.”

“Not now, please, my love. We are still busy with the Honourable Sophie and a fashion show in Frankfurt. And you know, you shouldn’t edit pictures and create the perfect stage scenery for a fashion show while you have coffee and cake. We’ll be free next week. I also have to work as a car mechanic, and I have to get this done today.” Gutto left the room, and his small hands waved like butterflies, looking like he wanted to fly away.

“Drama Queen,” Anne ended the conversation.

“Mechano Queen, please!” Gutto disappeared around the corner.

The phone was ringing.

“Hi,” Anne answered the phone.

She nodded twice and turned down the music in the background.

“I received a message that Eleonore will go to the hospital?” Paloma, lawyer of the agency, asked.

“Yes, Paloma. Eleonore will go into a new hospital in two weeks again.”

“Again? She should enjoy a holiday instead!”

Anne nodded.

“I’m not sure if she knows what she’s doing. But who could find out? She is crazy.”

Paloma knew this undertone in Anne’s voice very well.

“Is your depression back?”

“Not worse than usual. The new case brings back unlucky memories, but it’ll be better soon.” Anne paused. “I think.”

“In case you need an ear to listen, I have one left.” Both laughed. Paloma was deaf on one ear. When she was young, she was abused by her mother. She lost her ability to hear after an unlucky slap in her face.

“You’re silly”, teased Anne.

“What case are you working on?”

“Suicide of the woman in Wolfrathshausen. I thought she would push through a bit longer. I didn’t see this coming.”

“It is not your fault. No one here is a psychic.”

“Gutto is planning on tinkering cars, he just told me.”

“Gutto? I wouldn’t like driving that car.” Paloma laughed, which didn’t happen very often.

“I think nobody would be keen on driving a car, knowing Gutto worked on it. See you later.”

Anne put the phone down and opened up her new profile on her desktop. Her original name was AliciaKee.

That’s how a new conversation started with a forced prostitute from Brazil who currently sat in an internet café in Frankfurt.

“I just read that you are scared of getting beaten up. For real?”

All of this happened a few months earlier, but only a year later Peter-Anton’s story took an unexpected turn for him.

Ballerina

Telling a story after everything is over can be very easy because of how distance it might seem and because problems were already solved in the past. Eleonore had to fight her memories, which sometimes seemed so far away.

Although some details might get lost over time, an experience leaves marks so profoundly, they are seemingly unforgettable. This was exactly how Eleonore saw the world, right before she fell asleep.