On 25th May 2042 – 7:30 PM, The office was steeped in quiet shadows, the only light a soft amber glow from the desk lamp casting long streaks across a clutter of case files, old surveillance stills, and digital dossiers. Chief Wen-Li sat perfectly still at her desk, her fingers interlocked beneath her chin, elbows resting lightly on the edge of the polished wood.
Her gaze was distant—fixed, yet unfocused.
In her mind's eye: the image of Agent-90 pressing that button—the blood, the silence that followed. Miyoko Amazaki's death wasn't just clinical... it was biblical.
And then, today—the Leather Mask Man. Executed. Ripped apart.
But she'd given him only one name. Only one mission…
A flicker of unease passed through her.
"How… did he get access to the rest?"
Her brow furrowed. She didn't speak the words aloud, but the weight of them sat heavily in the room.
Just then, a soft knock—followed by the calm voice of Nightingale through the intercom.
"Chief? May I?"
Wen-Li blinked back into the present, her voice cool and composed.
"Come in."
The door slid open with a quiet hiss of hydraulics. Nightingale entered briskly, her silver-greenish hair tied back, a datapad tucked under her arm. Her boots made barely a sound on the tile, but her expression said plenty—wary, but professional.
"Chief," she began, her tone careful.
Wen-Li looked up, eyes sharp.
"What is it, Nightingale?"
"You're needed in the upper conference chamber. President has called an urgent meeting. The Chairpersons are already assembled."
Wen-Li's shoulders dropped by a fraction. Her mouth pressed into a thin line.
"Of course he has," she muttered under her breath.
Then, louder—half-resigned, half-amused:
"I can guess what it's about."
Nightingale didn't respond, but the flicker of sympathy in her eyes spoke volumes.
"They'll want to know about the Leather Mask Man," Wen-Li continued, standing and adjusting the collar of her coat. "About 90. About the mess we're pretending not to smell."
She stepped away from the desk, pausing only to glance out the tall window. The city glimmered in the dusk—neon veins running through the dark.
In her inner monologue, her thoughts sharpened:
"They want answers. And they want someone to blame. I only hope they understand this was never about rules… It was about results."
She turned to Nightingale with a faint, tired smile.
"Let's not keep the gods waiting, shall we?"
Nightingale nodded crisply.
"After you, Chief."
The door hissed shut behind them, the lights dimming, leaving only the echo of unspoken questions in the room they left behind.
The polished marble corridor stretched ahead in solemn silence, broken only by the soft clicks of Wen-Li's heels and the rhythmic hum of overhead lights. Beside her, Nightingale walked in step, a quiet presence of grace and vigilance.
As they turned the corner, a figure approached from the opposite end.
President Song Louyang—tall, refined, his black coat billowing faintly with each measured step. His expression was unusually pensive, his brow furrowed with unreadable tension.
Wen-Li halted, blinking in mild surprise.
"President? You're here already?"
He offered her a curt nod, voice low and laced with urgency.
"Yes. But before we enter the lions' den, there's something we must discuss. Privately."
He turned to Nightingale and gave a silent nod. She understood instantly.
"Of course," she said, then quietly stepped away, leaving them alone in the corridor.
Wen-Li straightened her posture. "Shall we talk in my office?"
Song Louyang shook his head.
"No. What I'm about to say—this isn't for your office. It's not procedural. It's personal... and important."
His voice had shifted—more earnest, less presidential.
Wen-Li's brows knitted, a flicker of unease surfacing. "What is it?"
He met her gaze with a solemn weight.
"It's about Agent-90. They're furious, Wen-Li. The Chairpersons, the oversight board... They want answers. They want blood. And I told them—truthfully—that you brought him in on a provisional basis. But they weren't appeased."
She remained silent, her lips tightening.
"They want to know why," he continued. "Why you entrusted him. Why, after the Noctum Hollow Incident, you still chose him. And I… I wasn't able to protect you in that meeting. Not last time."
Wen-Li's expression softened briefly. But behind her eyes, storm clouds gathered.
President Song took a breath, stepping a little closer, his voice lower.
"I won't stop you from speaking your truth in there. In fact, I want you to. Be honest. Let them know why you chose him. I may not agree with your methods, but I respect your conviction. And in that room, you'll have my support."
A beat of silence passed between them.
Wen-Li offered a small, grateful nod.
"Thank you, Mr. President."
He gave a faint, tired smile—one worn by a man who'd stood through too many fires.
"Let's go, then. Time to give them their answers."
Together, they continued down the hall—two figures walking towards the glow of the conference chamber doors, where judgment waited cloaked in protocol and politics.
The storm hadn't passed.
It had just begun.
The chamber was cloaked in a heavy silence, broken only by the low hum of the overhead lights. Chief Wen-Li entered, her posture erect, her expression composed. President Song Louyang followed closely, his face a mask of concern. The Chairpersons sat in a semicircle, their eyes fixed on Wen-Li.
Zhang Wei: "Chief Wen-Li, you authorised Agent-90 to handle the Amayosaki Prefecture Murder Incident. Yet, he also intervened in the Texaseon case, eliminating the Leather Mask Man. Why did you permit this deviation?"
Wen-Li: "I did not authorize Agent-90 to pursue the Texaseon case. His actions there were independent."
Aarav Sharma: (slamming his fist on the table) "Unacceptable! You brought him into our operations. His actions reflect on your leadership."
Wen-Li: (maintaining composure) "Agent-90 operates autonomously. His methods are unorthodox, but his results are undeniable."
Elizabeth Carter: "Unorthodox is an understatement. We found Miyoko's body crushed between industrial machines. Are you suggesting this was within operational parameters?"
Wen-Li: "Miyoko was a significant threat. Her elimination, though regrettable in method, neutralized that threat."
President Song Louyang: (raising his hand) "Let's not lose sight of the outcomes. Agent-90 resolved cases that have plagued us for years. Perhaps we should consider the efficacy of his approach."
Aarav Sharma: "Efficacy? He operates in shadows, with no accountability. He could be a liability."
Wen-Li: "Agent-90 is a tool—one that, when used judiciously, achieves results others cannot."
Zhang Wei: "But at what cost? We must weigh the benefits against potential fallout."
President Song Louyang: "We will continue to monitor Agent-90's activities closely. Chief Wen-Li, ensure that his operations align with our objectives."
Wen-Li: "Understood."
The meeting concluded with a palpable tension lingering in the air. As the Chairpersons filed out, their expressions were a mix of concern and contemplation.
Agent-90 stood atop the skyscraper, the city's luminescence reflecting off his visor. He deactivated the transmitter, having monitored the entire exchange between Wen-Li and the Chairpersons. Without a word, he glanced at his wristwatch, its interface displaying encrypted data streams.
Securing his briefcase, he turned away from the edge, disappearing into the shadows, leaving behind only questions and the faint hum of the city's heartbeat.
The cityscape sprawled beyond the porthole, a mosaic of neon lights flickering against the encroaching dusk. Chief Wen-Li stood motionless, her silhouette etched against the glass, fingers interlaced as she contemplated the enigma that was Agent-90.
Her mind replayed the harrowing images: Miyoko Amazaki's lifeless form, contorted amidst the wreckage of the warehouse; the grotesque demise of the Leather Mask Man in Texaseon. These were cases she had not assigned, yet Agent-90 had resolved them with ruthless efficiency, whereas petals of dandelion still blooming with wind
"How did he access those unsolved case files?" she pondered. "Did he infiltrate our systems? If so, why hadn't our security protocols detected any breaches?"
A soft chime interrupted her thoughts. The intercom buzzed, followed by Captain Robert's voice:
Captain Robert: "Chief, may I come in?"
Wen-Li: "Enter."
The door slid open with a gentle hiss, and Captain Robert stepped in, his posture rigid, eyes avoiding direct contact.
Wen-Li: "Robert, I have a pressing matter to discuss."
She moved deliberately to her desk, pressing a concealed panel that activated a privacy screen. Seating herself, she gestured for him to sit, though he remained standing.
Wen-Li: "You might already be aware of Agent-90's involvement in cases beyond his assignment. Specifically, the Amayosaki Prefecture Murder Incident and the Texaseon case involving the Leather Mask Man. I need to know how he obtained access to those files."
Captain Robert's complexion paled, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow.
Wen-Li: "Are you unwell, Captain?"
Captain Robert: "No... I'm fine."
Wen-Li: "If you have information, now is the time to disclose it."
A heavy silence ensued before he finally spoke.
Captain Robert: "I did it. I granted him access."
Wen-Li: "What? Why would you do such a thing?"
Captain Robert: "I believed he could resolve those cases. They had languished unsolved for too long. Agent-90 had the skills, the determination..."
Wen-Li pressed her fingers to her temples, exhaling slowly.
Wen-Li: "Captain, do you comprehend the gravity of your actions? By bypassing protocol, you've compromised our entire security framework. If Agent-90 can access our systems at will, what's to prevent others from doing the same?"
She stood, her gaze piercing.
Wen-Li: "This is a formal warning. Any further breaches will result in your immediate expulsion from the organisation. Do I make myself clear?"
Captain Robert: "Yes, Chief."
Wen-Li: "You're dismissed."
As Captain Robert exited, Wen-Li sank back into her chair, the weight of responsibility pressing heavily upon her.
Wen-Li (murmuring): "Agent-90... what are you truly after?"
At 10:00 p.m., within the sanctum of the Crimson Lotus hideout, Agent-90 approached the entrance to Madam Di-Xian's office. The ambient glow of crimson lotuses cast a serene hue across the room, their petals unfurling in silent bloom. Madam Di-Xian, engrossed in her work, looked up as the door opened.
"Did you gather some intel?" she inquired, her voice calm yet expectant.
"Yes," Agent-90 replied, his tone devoid of emotion.
"What is it?"
He recounted the conversation between Chief Wen-Li and the Chairpersons, detailing their concerns about his access to unsolved case files and the implications of his actions.
Madam Di-Xian listened intently, a smirk forming on her lips. "They've figured out how you accessed those unsolved cases. Thanks to Robert, we obtained the necessary information." She paused, then added with a chuckle, "I forgot to ask—did you deliver the food I mentioned to Chief Wen-Li yesterday?"
"Nihari," Agent-90 confirmed, his expression unchanged. "She liked it."
He described, from Wen-Li's perspective, how she had savored the nihari with naan, exclaiming, "Oh, this is so delicious!," her demeanor momentarily lightning in a chibi-like expression of delight.
Madam Di-Xian's smirk widened into a gentle laugh. "She still acts like a child... Alright, 90, you may go."
"Yes, Madam," he acknowledged, turning to leave the room.
At the stroke of midnight on 26th May, in an undisclosed locale shrouded in obscurity, a solitary figure ambled through the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing softly against the cold, concrete floor. He hummed a haunting lullaby, the melody distorted and unsettling, as if plucked from a forgotten nightmare. Clutched in his gloved hand was a gleaming knife, its blade catching the sparse light with a sinister glint.
Reaching a heavy, rusted door, he paused momentarily before pushing it open with a creak that pierced the silence. Inside, the room was cloaked in darkness, the air thick with the stench of decay and dampness. A single, flickering bulb cast erratic shadows across the walls, revealing a woman bound to a chair, her mouth gagged, eyes wide with terror. She struggled against her restraints, the ropes biting into her skin, but her muffled screams were swallowed by the oppressive gloom.
The man approached slowly, his gaze fixed upon her with a chilling detachment. Without a word, he raised the knife, its edge catching the light one final time before descending. The room was soon filled with the sickening sounds of flesh being carved, the metallic scent of blood mingling with the damp air.
Hours later, in a chamber resembling a grotesque gallery, the woman's remains had been transformed into a macabre sculpture. Her limbs were arranged with perverse artistry, her lifeless eyes staring blankly into the void. The man stood back, admiring his handiwork, a twisted smile playing on his lips. A low, demonic laugh escaped his throat, echoing through the chamber as he revelled in his creation.
The scene was a testament to his madness, a chilling display of horror that defied comprehension. The air was thick with dread, the silence punctuated only by the fading echoes of his laughter.
At dawn on 26th May, the sun cast a golden hue over the expansive grasslands near the Kiwaiya River, just a few miles from Hollowpoint. A solitary man ambled along a narrow trail, his loyal dog trotting beside him. The tranquillity of the morning was palpable, broken only by the gentle rustling of grass and the distant murmur of the river.
Suddenly, the dog halted, ears perked and body tense. With a sharp bark, it bolted ahead, leaving its owner calling out in surprise.
"Oi! Come back here!" he shouted, breaking into a jog.
The dog stopped near a peculiar sight—a statue of a naked woman standing amidst the grass lifeless eyes staring. The man approached, puzzled.
"Why are you barking at that?" he muttered, eyeing the sculpture. Its realism was unsettling; the skin seemed almost lifelike. As he stepped closer, he noticed a droplet of blood trickling from the statue's finger.
A chill ran down his spine. Climbing onto the pedestal carefully, he reached out and touched the statue's cheek. It was soft, yielding slightly under his fingers. He pulled back, his hand now stained with blood.
Heart pounding, he descended and fumbled for his phone, dialling the emergency number.
"Hello? Is this the SSCBF? There's a... a body, I think. Near the Kiwaiya River, just outside Hollowpoint. Please, send someone quickly!"
The peaceful morning had turned into a scene of horror, the discovery marking the beginning of a chilling investigation.
At 6:10 am a convoy of black-armoured SSCBF vehicles pulled up along the mist-laced grassland near the Kiwaiya River. The early morning light cast a pallid hue over the scene, where a grotesque sculpture stood on a pedestal, its lifelike features sending shivers down the spines of seasoned investigators.
Captain Robert Voreyevsky stepped out, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the area. Beside him, Captain Lingaong Xuein adjusted her gloves, her expression a mix of determination and unease.
"Status report," Robert commanded, his voice cutting through the morning stillness.
Demitin approached, her face pale. "Sir, the sculpture appears to be a human body, preserved and posed. We've secured the perimeter and begun documentation."
Robert turned his gaze to the statue, noting the unnatural stillness and the faint glisten of blood at the fingertips. "Who discovered this?"
Demitin gestured to a man standing nearby with a large Alaskan Malamute. "Sir. He was walking his dog when they stumbled upon the scene."
Robert approached Theri, who held his dog's leash tightly. "Your name?"
"Agionstos Theri, and this is Kyris," he replied, his voice trembling.
"Tell me what happened."
"I was walking Kyris when he ran off. I followed and found him barking at this... statue. It looked too real. Then I saw the blood."
Robert handed him a card. "If you remember anything else, contact us immediately."
Theri nodded and quickly left the scene.
Lingaong Xuein joined Robert, her face etched with concern. "Robert, this is unlike anything we've encountered. The precision, the preservation—it's beyond our understanding."
Robert sighed, his jaw tightening. "We need to get this to the lab. Inform Chief Wen-Li. We might be dealing with a serial offender."
At that moment, Demitin's phone rang. She answered, her expression shifting from professional to horrified. "Another one? Where? Understood."
She turned to the team. "Another body has been found at Zin-Ying Park in the Qīnglián Haven District of Lóngchāng."
The team exchanged grim looks. Robert's voice was resolute. "Lingaong, inform the Chief. We need all hands on this. Let's move."
As the team mobilized, the morning sun struggled to pierce the fog, casting long shadows over the grassland—a silent witness to the horrors yet to unfold.
"Meanwhile, Chief Wen-Li sat at her desk, the glow of her laptop casting a pale light on her face. Her eyes scanned the list of unsolved cases, now reduced to one: the Gazhutan Brudhan incident. Agent-90 had resolved the other eleven, including the notorious Amayosaki and Texaseon cases.
Her mind raced with questions: How did he eliminate 73 Sinners and 107 outlaws without remorse? What kind of being operates without regret? Why does he instill fear in everyone?
Determined to find answers, she delved into her laptop, searching for any information on Agent-90. She stumbled upon a news article titled "Gon-Whiel Experiment." Intrigued, she clicked on it.
The article detailed a harrowing account:
"The Gon-Whiel Orphanage, established in 2021, was a clandestine facility protected by the elite Syndicate Communist Party (SCP). Its purpose: to create emotionless, nameless weapons from vulnerable children. The government eventually shut it down due to public exposure and internal dissent. Chief Wen-Luo of SSCBF played a pivotal role in uncovering its horrors. Upon arrival, he found the underground facility littered with mutilated bodies of children. Only one survivor remained—Subject 90. The boy stood amidst the carnage, expressionless, with piercing blue eyes and a barcode on back of his head reading '90.'"
Wen-Li's eyes widened in shock. The survivor was Agent-90. Her father, Chief Wen-Luo, had been instrumental in exposing the facility.
At that moment, the door slid open with a quiet hiss. Nightingale entered, urgency in her voice.
"Chief! Captains Robert and Lingaong Xuein have reported discovering sculpted corpses at Kiwaiya River and Zin-Ying Park."
Wen-Li's heart sank. "What?!"
"We must act quickly," Nightingale urged.
"Inform Commander Krieg to dispatch our units immediately," Wen-Li commanded, rising from her seat, determination etched on her face.
At 26 May, 06:30 AM, Zin-Ying Park, a verdant expanse nestled within the Qīnglián Haven District, exudes a harmonious blend of nature and futuristic design. Bioluminescent flora lines the winding pathways, casting a gentle glow that dances upon the sleek, metallic benches and holographic art installations. The early morning serenity is shattered by the presence of a grotesque sculpture atop the central water fountain—a male figure, blindfolded, his left arm grotesquely stapled and covered in blood, while the rest of the arm appears disturbingly feminine.
A crowd has gathered, their murmurs of disbelief and horror filling the air. Some avert their eyes; others capture the scene on their devices, the flashing lights adding to the surreal atmosphere.
Wen-Li, Nightingale, and Commander Krieg arrive promptly, their expressions a mix of determination and concern. Captain Robert and Captain Lingaong Xuein approach them, flanked by their team: Demitin, Sakim, Daishoji, and Louisese Langermans.
Wen-Li: "Status report."
Captain Robert: "The sculpture was discovered at dawn. It's eerily similar to the one found near the Kiwaiya River. The first corpse has been sent to the forensic lab for analysis."
Wen-Li: "How is it possible for the killer to create such elaborate displays in different locations within such a short timeframe?"
Commander Krieg: "This perpetrator operates with a level of precision and audacity that's unprecedented. It's as if he's mocking our efforts."
Captain Lingaong Xuein: "Could there be more than one individual involved? Perhaps a coordinated effort?"
At that moment, Daishoji approaches, holding a leaf stained with fresh blood.
Daishoji: "I found this near the perimeter. It's recent."
Wen-Li: "He's still nearby, possibly scouting for his next victim. We need to act swiftly and discreetly before the media gets wind of this."
The city of Lóngchāng, a sprawling metropolis of gleaming spires and neon-lit thoroughfares, buzzed with the usual morning activity. Hovercars zipped through the skyways, and pedestrians navigated the labyrinthine walkways suspended between towering arcologies. Despite its ultramodern veneer, a palpable tension hung in the air, a stark contrast to the city's usual rhythm
At the heart of this unease stood Chief Wen-Li, flanked by Captains Robert and Lingaong Xuein, Commander Krieg, and Nightingale. They had just concluded their investigation at Zin-Ying Park, where a macabre sculpture had been discovered atop the central fountain—a lifelike statue of a blindfolded man, his left arm grotesquely stapled and bloodied, the rest of his form disturbingly feminine.
The team had canvassed the area, questioning bystanders and reviewing surveillance footage. Yet, the killer had left no trace, no witnesses, no discernible pattern.
Captain Lingaong Xuein sighed, her brow furrowed. "We've scoured every inch, questioned everyone. No one saw anything unusual."
Chief Wen-Li's eyes narrowed as she scanned the surroundings. Her gaze settled on a nearby surveillance drone, its lens cracked and dangling. "The surveillance systems... they've been tampered with," she observed.
Commander Krieg nodded grimly. "This perpetrator is meticulous, covering every angle."
Wen-Li turned to her team, determination etched on her face. "We're dealing with a methodical killer who operates with surgical precision. We need to regroup and analyse every piece of data we've gathered."
As the team prepared to return to their base, the city's ambient noise seemed to recede, replaced by a collective apprehension. The citizens of Lóngchāng, usually engrossed in their routines, now cast wary glances over their shoulders, the shadow of an unseen predator looming large.
At precisely 10:30 a.m., the SSCBF forensic laboratory was abuzz with activity. Dr. Abrar Faiyaz, a seasoned forensic pathologist, stood over the examination table, his brow furrowed in concentration. Beside him, Nurse Anne Parker meticulously documented their findings, her gloved hands steady as she handled the delicate instruments.
Laid out before them were the two statuesque corpses: the female victim discovered near the Kiwaiya River and the male found at Zin-Ying Park. Both bodies bore the hallmarks of a meticulous and macabre craftsmanship, their lifeless forms eerily preserved.
Dr. Faiyaz turned to Nurse Parker, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Anne, the precision of these incisions... it's as if the perpetrator had surgical training."
Nurse Parker nodded, her eyes scanning the male victim's body. "The male's eyes have been removed, and a blindfold covers the sockets. Moreover, his left arm has been replaced with what appears to be the female victim's arm. The grafting is seamless, suggesting advanced anatomical knowledge."
Dr. Faiyaz moved to the female corpse, his expression darkening. "Her internal organs have been extracted with remarkable precision. Notably, the reproductive organs are absent. This level of anatomical dissection indicates a perpetrator with extensive medical expertise."
At that moment, the laboratory doors slid open with a soft hiss, admitting Chief Wen-Li, accompanied by Nightingale and Lan Qian. Wen-Li's eyes narrowed as she approached the examination table.
"Doctor, have you uncovered any leads?" she inquired, her tone urgent.
Dr. Faiyaz straightened his face grave. "Chief, these murders are unlike anything I've encountered. The surgical precision suggests the killer is likely a medical professional—perhaps a surgeon or someone with equivalent training."
Wen-Li's gaze hardened. "Do we have any information on the victims?"
Nurse Parker stepped forward, activating a nearby console. "Yes, Chief. The female victim has been identified as Chuai Yunling, 32, an employee at NeoGen Pharmaceuticals. The male victim is Yoong Jinwook, 21, a student at Lóngchāng Medical University."
Wen-Li's eyes flicked between the two bodies, her mind racing. "Have their families been notified?"
Dr. Faiyaz shook his head. "Not yet, Chief. We were awaiting your directive."
Wen-Li turned to Nightingale and Lan Qian. "Nightingale, coordinate with Captains Robert and Lingaong Xuein. Investigate all hospitals, clinics, and medical facilities in the region. Focus on personnel with surgical backgrounds. If necessary, liaise with international law enforcement agencies."
Nightingale nodded. "Understood, Chief."
Wen-Li then addressed Lan Qian. "Lan Qian, I want a comprehensive analysis of all surveillance footage from the Kiwaiya River and Zin-Ying Park. Look for any anomalies or suspicious activities."
"As you command, Chief," Lan Qian replied, already accessing the surveillance databases.
Wen-Li's gaze returned to the lifeless forms on the examination table. "This killer is methodical, calculating. We must act swiftly to prevent further atrocities."
The room fell silent, the weight of the investigation pressing heavily upon them all.
At 10:45 AM, Chief Wen-Li stood for a final moment beside the twin examination tables. Her gaze lingered on the mutilated bodies of Chuai Yunling and Yoong Jinwook. The faint scent of antiseptic mingled with the metallic tang of blood still hung in the air, clinging to her like a warning.
She turned to Dr. Abrar Faiyaz, offering a respectful nod.
Wen-Li: "Thank you, Doctor. I know this wasn't easy to stomach."
Dr. Abrar gave a faint sigh, removing his gloves with a snap. "Chief, I've seen atrocities… but this—this feels as if evil has taken scalpel in hand."
Without another word, Wen-Li exited the lab, her boots echoing down the steel corridor. The lighting overhead flickered momentarily—more from aged circuits than symbolism, but still, it added to the weight hanging on her shoulders.
Sliding her fingers along her wrist console, she activated a secure line. The device blinked green before a familiar gruff voice filtered through.
Gonda (over comms): "Chief. I figured you'd ring."
Wen-Li's voice was cool, but the tension was there, knotted just beneath the surface.
Wen-Li: "Gonda-san… I trust you've caught wind of the Kiwaiya River and Zin-Ying Park incidents?"
There was the distinct sound of a lighter flicking on the other end, followed by a lazy exhale.
Gonda: "Hard to miss. A statue of a blindfolded lad with a woman's arm? That's not something the streets forget."
Wen-Li: "Then I won't waste time. I need names. Anyone with motive, skill—or madness enough—to make human sculptures. Start peeling back layers. Underground surgeons. Rogue bio-scientists. Artists with body-count fantasies."
Gonda chuckled, the kind that barely veiled unease.
Gonda: "You're diving into hell, Chief. But aye—I'll sift the ash and see what crawls out."
Wen-Li: "Make it quick. We might not have the luxury of a third corpse."
Without waiting for farewells, the call disconnected. Wen-Li exhaled slowly, her expression unreadable.
Lieutenant Nightingale, alongside Captains Robert and Lingaong Xuein, led their team—Daishoji, Demitin, Sakim, and Louisese Langermans—on an exhaustive investigation across Lóngchāng's medical establishments. Their objective: to identify any medical personnel with surgical expertise who might be linked to the recent gruesome homicides.
Their itinerary included visits to prominent institutions such as Lóngchāng Central Hospital, Harmony Medical Centre, and the Advanced Surgical Institute. Despite meticulous scrutiny of staff records and patient logs, no anomalies were detected.
Expanding their search, the team collaborated with international law enforcement agencies, including Interpol, Europol, and the National Crime Agency. These alliances facilitated access to global databases and intelligence networks. However, even with this augmented reach, the investigation yielded no substantial leads.
As dusk settled over the city, the team reconvened at their temporary command post. Captain Lingaong Xuein voiced the collective frustration, stating, "We've scoured every avenue, yet the trail remains cold."
Lieutenant Nightingale, reflecting on the day's efforts, acknowledged the need for a strategic reassessment. "Perhaps it's time we consider alternative approaches," she mused, her tone resolute despite the setbacks.
The team prepared to return to headquarters, determined to re-evaluate their findings and devise a new plan of action. A sudden, harrowing crash split through the evening haze—followed by a chorus of terrified screams.
Captain Robert and Captain Lingaong Xuein, along with Daishoji, Sakim, Demitin, and Louisese Langermans, wheeled around as the crowd parted in panic. A man lay crumpled on the pavement, blood pooling beneath his fractured skull, his limbs twisted grotesquely. The metallic stench of blood mingled with the neon-charged air.
"Medic!" Robert barked, immediately crouching beside the fallen man. "He's still breathing—barely."
Xuein dropped to her knees beside him, checking for a pulse with clinical precision. Her face tightened. "This wasn't an accident… someone pushed him."
At that instant, Nightingale—eyes sharp as glass—glanced upward.
Perched on the edge of a nearby rooftop was a figure clad in a black hoodie, spectacles glinting beneath the glow of a flickering holo-ad. His lips curled into a slow, deliberate smirk. Satisfaction. Provocation.
Nightingale's expression darkened. "Captain! He's up there—top of the Tsong-Kei building!"
Without pause, Nightingale dashed toward the structure's entrance, Xuein following in lockstep. Their boots pounded against the pavement as they stormed through the sliding doors, adrenaline fuelling every breath.
They ascended the stairwell in bursts—five floors, ten—until the rooftop hatch burst open with a clang.
But the roof was empty. The suspect was gone.
Nightingale stood frozen for a second, her chest heaving as sweat lined her brow. She grit her teeth, slamming a fist into the rail.
"Bloody bastard's slipped through," she muttered, scowling.
Captain Xuein stepped forward, scanning the skyline. "Lieutenant—are you certain it was him?"
"Yes," Nightingale replied, her voice cold and certain. "Black hoodie, round glasses, that vile smirk plastered on his face. He watched the body fall like it was art."
She exhaled hard, her breath fogging in the night air. "He wanted us to see it. He's toying with us."
Xuein nodded solemnly. "Which means he's still nearby. Still hunting."
Nightingale tightened her gloves, jaw set. "We need to return to base and alert Chief Wen-Li. We've found our culprit… and he's playing a very dangerous game."
Xuein, her voice laced with steel, asked, "And the killer?"
Nightingale met her gaze with unwavering resolve. "We'll catch him. Whatever it takes."
Without another word, the two officers descended back into the belly of the city, the hunt reignited under the unblinking neon sky of Lóngchāng.
At 9:30 PM, The sterile hum of monitors filled the dimly lit room as Lan Qian scrutinised the surveillance footage. Her eyes, sharp and unwavering, tracked every movement on the screen. The timestamp read 03:00 AM. A figure, clad in a black hoodie, emerged from the shadows, carrying what appeared to be a lifeless body.
"There," she murmured, pausing the footage. "Chuai Yunling's body was placed at Kiwaiya River at precisely 3:00 AM."
She fast-forwarded the footage to 04:59 AM. The same figure appeared again, this time at Zin-Ying Park, positioning another body atop the fountain.
"Yoong Jinwook's body was placed at 4:59 AM," she noted, her voice tinged with a mix of awe and apprehension.
Her mind raced. "Two bodies, two locations, within two hours. This isn't random. It's orchestrated."
At that moment, Chief Wen-Li entered, her presence commanding.
"Lan Qian, any findings?" she inquired, her tone urgent yet composed.
"Yes, Chief," Lan Qian replied, gesturing to the screen. "The same individual placed both bodies. The precision and timing suggest meticulous planning."
Wen-Li's eyes narrowed, absorbing the information. "This killer is methodical. He knows the city, its blind spots, its routines."
Suddenly, the doors burst open. Nightingale, Captains Robert and Lingaong Xuein, along with their team—Daishoji, Sakim, Demitin, and Louisese Langermans—entered, their faces etched with urgency.
"Chief," Nightingale began, catching her breath, "we encountered the suspect. He pushed a man from a rooftop. The victim is currently hospitalised at Lóngchāng Central Hospital."
Wen-Li's eyes widened. "A man in a black hoodie?"
"Yes, with spectacles," Nightingale confirmed. "He smirked before disappearing."
Wen-Li turned back to the footage, the pieces aligning in her mind. "He's taunting us, leaving breadcrumbs."
Her phone buzzed. It was Gonda.
"Chief," his voice crackled through the speaker, "I've gathered intel on our suspect."
"Meet me at the base," Wen-Li instructed. "We need to discuss this face-to-face."
She turned to Nightingale and her team. "You've been searching Lóngchāng, but what about other cities?"
Nightingale sighed, frustration evident. "Interpol, Europol, the National Crime Agency—they've all come up empty. The killer was here all along."
Wen-Li's gaze hardened, determination flaring. "Then we focus our efforts here. We will find him."
The room fell silent, the weight of the task ahead settling over them. Outside, the city lights flickered, oblivious to the hunt unfolding within.
The heavy security doors hissed open as Gonda stepped into the SSCBF base. Clad in a black long-sleeved suit, his snow-white hair tousled by the wind, he took a final drag of his cigarette before flicking the butt into a wall-mounted incinerator. His presence exuded old-world grit—like a man who'd seen one too many things and remembered all of them.
Just beyond the main corridor stood Captain Robert Voreyevsky, arms folded tightly across his chest, leaning casually against the frame. He raised a brow.
"Well, well," Robert drawled, pushing off the wall. "Look who the wind dragged in. Still haven't quit smoking?"
Gonda gave a half-smirk. "It's been a while, Robert. This place reeks of nostalgia… and bureaucracy."
"Yeah, yeah. Come on," Robert replied, motioning for him to follow. His tone was curt, but there was a flicker of familiarity in his eyes.
They strode briskly through the corridor toward the command wing. As the office doors slid open, they revealed the full investigative ensemble already assembled within—Chief Wen-Li, Lieutenant Nightingale, Captain Lingaong Xuein, Commander Krieg, Lan Qian, and field officers Demitin, Sakim, Daishoji, and Louisese Langermans—each bearing the weight of fatigue and urgency in their demeanours.
Chief Wen-Li stood tall behind her desk, arms loosely at her sides, a slight furrow between her brows. "Welcome, Gonda-san," she said with a nod. "I trust you've brought the intel I requested?"
Gonda returned her gaze evenly. "I have, Chief." Then turning slightly, he acknowledged Krieg with a nod. "Commander—still intimidating, I see."
Krieg didn't miss a beat. His arms remained crossed as he grunted, "Let's skip the pleasantries, informant. Who's our bastard?"
Wen-Li cast an amused glance at Krieg, then faced forward. "Go on, Gonda. We're all ears."
Gonda stepped into the centre of the room, eyes scanning the team before him, then exhaled a slow trail of smoke. "The one responsible for the murder and grotesque sculpting of Chuai Yunling and Yoong Jinwook is Park Harto Hwanheeil. He's a known spectre—one of the most elusive serial killers in global records. The National Crime Agency, Interpol, and Europol have all failed to apprehend him."
The room tensed. Nightingale's expression hardened. Daishoji exchanged glances with Demitin.
Wen-Li's tone sharpened. "Details, Gonda. Psychological profile? MO?"
Before he could respond, Robert interjected, his voice taut. "No time for profiles, Chief. This man's active. He's going to strike again—if he hasn't already."
Wen-Li exhaled sharply and nodded. "You're right."
She turned back to Gonda. "Where is he now?"
Gonda tossed a small data chip onto the table. "Last trace was in Seonbaek District—on the outskirts of the Lóngchāng perimeter. Tight, under-patrolled, filled with derelict housing blocks. Ideal for someone like him to vanish."
Wen-Li's eyes darkened with resolve. She turned swiftly to the room.
"Gear up. We're heading to Seonbaek District now. This ends tonight."
Her words cracked through the chamber like a war drum. The team straightened, every officer's eyes steeled with purpose. The time for shadows had ended.
The hunt was on.
Under the moonless shroud of night, Seonbaek District stirs—not in splendour, but in survival.
Far on the horizon, the distant glow of Lóngchāng's central arcology flickers like a ghostly sentinel—its light too sterile, too far to penetrate the rot that festers in Seonbaek. The air hangs heavy with industrial haze, tainted by ozone, synthetic oil, and the lingering bite of old circuitry.
Rain falls in a steady drizzle, collecting in shallow gutters that ripple with hues of crimson, violet, and sickly green—reflections cast from holographic billboards and flickering hanzi (汉字) signage blinking like dying stars.
The alleyways slice through a dense maze of decaying high-rises—concrete relics tattooed with faded adverts, anarchic graffiti, and subcultural sigils scrawled in ten languages. Overhead, a tangle of exposed wires crisscrosses like webs spun by techno-spiders. Every building groans under the strain of retrofitted implants—steel plating bolted over rust, neon prosthetics welded to skeletal façades.
Shadows slink beneath sputtering lights—some human, some augmented, others unregistered altogether. Electric cars idle like predators in sleep-mode, their drivers watching from behind tinted visors. Data couriers, contraband runners, and black-market engineers slip through the wet corridors with hooded heads and visors down—phantoms within a city that has forgotten its soul.
Under the cloaked veil of night, Seonbaek District pulsed with a sinister rhythm. Park Harto Hwanheeil, clad in his signature black hoodie and spectacles, melded seamlessly into the throng, his eyes scanning with predatory precision for his next canvas. The air was thick with anticipation, the city's neon glow casting eerie reflections on rain-slicked pavements.
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. From the periphery, SSCBF officers emerged, led by Chief Wen-Li, Commander Krieg, and the ever-enigmatic Gonda-san. Wen-Li's voice cut through the din, "Krieg, deploy the special forces. Robert, Lingaong Xuein, disperse through the crowd. He must not escape." The officers moved with practiced precision, their presence a stark contrast to the chaos around them.
Sensing the tightening net, Park Harto Hwanheeil retreated into the shadows, attempting to vanish amidst the confusion. But Wen-Li's keen eyes caught a fleeting glimpse of his figure. "HEY! STOP THERE!" she shouted, initiating a frenetic chase through the labyrinthine alleys of Seonbaek.
The pursuit was relentless, the city's underbelly serving as a treacherous backdrop. Park, cornered and desperate, seized a young girl from the crowd, pressing a blade to her throat. The crowd recoiled in horror, a collective gasp echoing through the streets. "If you come any closer, she dies. Drop your weapons!" he snarled.
Nightingale's jaw clenched, her eyes burning with fury. Captain Robert raised his weapon, but Lingaong Xuein's firm hand restrained him. Field officers Demitin, Sakim, Daishoji, and Louisese Langermans stood poised, their hands raised in a tense standoff.
Wen-Li stepped forward, her voice calm yet commanding. "Park Harto Hwanheeil, there's no escape. Release the girl, and we can resolve this peacefully."
Unbeknownst to them, a figure in a black 1954 Mercedes-Benz 300SL listened intently, earpods relaying the unfolding drama. As Park dragged the girl towards a waiting van, tears streaming down her face, the enigmatic driver tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Wen-Li's thoughts raced, "Where are the special forces?"
The van roared to life, tearing through the streets with the girl inside. Wen-Li barked orders, "Everyone, to your vehicles! We can't let him escape!" At that moment, the black Mercedes pulled up beside her. The driver, Agent-90, met her gaze with a nod before accelerating into the night.
Nightingale slid into the driver's seat of their vehicle, Wen-Li beside her, as they joined the high-speed pursuit. Overhead, helicopters illuminated the chase, their spotlights cutting through the darkness.
Above, a helicopter joins the chase, spotlighting the fleeing van.
On the bridge, the van swerves, bullets flying between Park and Agent-90. The helicopter releases spike strips, but Park maneuvers deftly, evading them. Agent-90, with precision, avoids the obstacles, maintaining the chase.
As they approach the bascule bridge, Agent-90 hacks into the city's infrastructure via his phone. The bridge begins to rise, forcing Park to halt abruptly. Agent-90 seizes the moment, ramming into the van's side.
When Wen-Li and the SSCBF arrive, they find the van abandoned, the young girl inside, unharmed but shaken.
Wen-Li (to her team): "The suspect has vanished."
Commander Krieg (demanding): "Who was in that black Mercedes?"
Wen-Li, observing the now-lowered bridge, responds with a knowing look.
Wen-Li: "The killer is in capable hands."
Krieg (insistent): "Whose hands?"
Wen-Li (with a serious face): "Velvet Guillotine."
A heavy silence ensues. Field officers assist the girl, ensuring her safety as medical teams arrive.
Elsewhere, Park awakens to searing pain as boiling oil is poured over him by Madam Di-Xian. Surrounded by her agents—Masud, Roy, Farhan, Jun, Alvi, and Agent-90—he screams, "This is a crime! You can't do this to me!"
"Look who's talking," Jun retorts.
"Calm down, Jun," Madam Di-Xian interjects.
"You're not law enforcement; you're criminals!" Park accuses.
Farhan silences him with a brutal punch. Madam Di-Xian, exuding a deadly calm, states, "We're not bound by the law. We are the oath that delivers justice when the system fails. And you..." She grabs his hair, forcing him to meet her gaze. "...will feel the pain you inflicted upon your victims."
Turning to her agents, she commands, "Administer his own medicine."
"Yes, ma'am," they respond in unison, preparing their instruments as Madam Di-Xian and Alvi exit the scene.
The five agents stood in a half-circle around Park, their spectacle lenses glinting coldly beneath the sterile glare of surgical halogens—reflections turned their eyes into unreadable shards.
Agent-90 circled the bound man with calculated slowness, the crisp sound of his Oxfords tapping against the grated floor echoing like a metronome of inevitability.
"Do you know why you're here, Park?" His voice was flat, stripped of malice. Just a verdict waiting for punctuation.
Park's chest rose and fell in ragged terror. He was naked, stripped of his anonymity and arrogance. His mouth opened to speak, but no sound emerged.
Roy let out a dry laugh.
"Funny. You used to love speeches when your victims couldn't respond."
Farhan cracked his knuckles. "We're not here to talk. We're here to return the favour. Only—ours comes with silence."
Jun stepped forward, gaze cold and inquisitive. "You believed pain was art," he murmured. "So now, you'll become your own gallery piece."
They moved with clinical efficiency, surrounding Park like artisans at work. Jun produced surgical chalk, sketching lines across skin with surgeon's steadiness. Farhan prepared restraints and fittings. Roy arranged the metal structure behind him.
No knives. No blood.
Only fear.
Agent-90 leaned in, face inches from Park's trembling one. "You once said the human form is best appreciated in stillness," he whispered. "Now, you'll learn what eternity feels like."
With a nod, Masud activated the scaffold. Pneumatic arms extended, encasing Park in a frame of chilling precision. Immobilised—upright, arms outstretched, posture unnatural but not fatal. Just unbearable.
"We're not killers," Masud remarked with quiet disdain. "Not today. We're curators."
As Park's screams were absorbed by the soundproofed chamber, the five stepped back to observe their work. His terror was immortalised—not in pain, but in stasis. A sculpture of fear and guilt. A tribute to his crimes.
Agent-90 removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses with deliberate calm. "Now you'll be remembered," he said, barely audible.
The chamber door slid shut behind them. Silence followed—total, suffocating, and final.