"One moment." She dumps the body into an open trashcan?!

"Tch." Her elbow collides with a demon's midsection, the force of her blow traveling through flesh to blow out its backside.

"This asshole isn't the guy I was after either. Annoying."

She's currently busy, reading a file two inches thick.

[I just realized that Kazano was born the year before the end of World War 2.]

"You what."

A deep sigh, the woman turning over the bag of evidence in her hand.

". . . . Hrm."

She looks up from her newspaper. She slowly looks back down.

". . . . . . . Still quiet. Almost deathly so. No leads either."

"... Kaz can't drink? Then how does she LIVE?"

"By beating demons and other troublesome sorts to death."

". . . . . Did she . . . Was that a /meme/?"

". . . . . I can sympathize. Not exactly a picnic over here either."

[Oh. Wait. I probably should have said I'm Warden-mun. What up.]

There's a crash of something being suplexed into the street.

Cue a large crocodilian demon getting thrown down the street like a rag doll. "Tch."

"Yeah. I'm a clown. Call me Pierrot."

Why is Kazano older than even the older people.

"I leave for a few days and God comes down to fight people. Really."