When they found the first body, no one batted an eye.
That was par for the course in Skid Row. But something with these deaths was off. They were made to look like ritualistic suicides, like something supernatural. But I knew better. Besides, I don’t believe in magic.
My name is Rick Danvers and I’m an undercover detective with Robbery Homicide. I’ve been embedded in this slum for a week now, and before the night is over, I’m gonna get to the bottom of the Skid Row Suicides.
The world has gone black.
At least, you can’t see anything. You can’t move or scream either. You’re trapped.
This has to be a dream, yet… something tells you it’s all too real. Not only do you not remember where you are, you don’t remember who you are.
With a poetic narrative that promises an existential read, Nothing but the Black searches for a light in the darkness of identity.