The grey dawn bled into the city like a bruise spreading across a body.
A slow, muffled Paris crept into motion as commuters yawned through their routines, unaware that beneath their feet and among their buildings, a storm had already begun. The streets glistened with last night's rain, and the sky above was still heavy with clouds, reluctant to move on.
Brendon sat hunched over the small table in Christopher's kitchen, his eyes tracing the edges of Zuekh's file again and again in a clockwork pattern. His third cup of coffee steamed next to him, untouched and forgotten.
Across from him, Christopher sat in silence, buttering toast, quietly watching the wolf who hadn't slept in two days.
"You're going to burn a hole through that folder," Christopher finally said, snapping the silence.
Brendon didn't look up. "Zuekh's early record is still missing. Nothing before year three of his service. It's not redacted. It's not hidden. It just… doesn't exist."
"That's weird," Christopher agreed.
"No. It's not weird. It's planned," Brendon murmured. "Like someone deliberately deleted it and filled the gap with fake reports. And what's worse is… no one seems to have noticed. Or cared."
Christopher raised a brow. "So you think he's — what? Corrupt? Don't be ridiculous (he gives out a laughs). He is one of the most respected officer in whole Paris PD."
Brendon finally looked up. "I know that but sometimes most honest looking person can be the most notorious criminal. Trust me. I have seen this."
He continues, "I think we're missing the most important thread in this entire mess. And I think Zuekh's standing on it."
---
Scene Shift – Dr. Banik's Laboratory
Dr. Banik leaned forward in his lab coat, squinting at the microscope slide like it held the answer to life itself. Behind him, the bright blue light of a scanner pinged and beeped, processing the results of the synthetic fiber analysis from the cloth Brendon brought in days ago.
It had taken longer than expected. Too long. The fibers were foreign — not from a commercial manufacturer. They had been chemically altered, likely soaked in a masking solution. But the solution had flaws.
Finally, a ping.
Banik looked at the results.
> "Carbon composite blend… partial traces of industrial glue… low-temp acid residue…"
His eyes widened.
This wasn't your typical clothing you'd buy from a store.
It has repurposed fibre insulation. Something found in construction sites or subway utility tunnels.
He tapped the computer screen, linking the results to Christopher's encrypted mail account.
> "Gotcha," he muttered. "Now let's see if you hang yourself with your own thread."
---
Scene Shift – Brendon and Christopher Investigate Further
Later that morning, Christopher and Brendon returned to the subway construction zones again. This time, Brendon carried with him a list of derelict maintenance routes beneath the city — the old arteries that connected various parts of Paris back before the metro was modernized.
"These lines were shut off years ago," Brendon explained as they walked. "But some of the homeless or the castouts still use them. Including hybrids."
"You think that's where the killer hides?"
"Maybe. Or maybe it's where he became the killer."
They passed a sleeping hybrid family tucked into a corner, their faces gaunt, children curled like animals. A metal sheet covered their heads like a roof.
Christopher paused.
He'd seen poverty before. Seen riots, blood, and injustice.
But something about this scene... hurt.
"Brendon," he muttered. "Do you think this place ever really healed?"
Brendon didn't answer immediately. He crouched down beside a crumbling wall, running his fingers across the edges of an old rusted pipe. "No. It just learned to pretend better."
They moved on. But that moment sat heavy between them.
---
Meanwhile in another part of the city, Matt sat alone, his heavy frame tucked into the back of an unused refrigeration unit in an abandoned market warehouse. The steel door creaked as he opened the crate beside him.
Inside were ropes, photographs, and names.
He picked one up.
"Marion Clervaux" – Current Head of Special Operations, National Police, formerly part of Zuekh's "clean-up" team.
He set the photo aside and opened a small can of beans, eating cold. His hands, despite their size, moved carefully. Precisely.
From his backpack, he pulled out a folded newspaper clipping.
It was old — a missing person report. The photo on it was of a young hybrid girl. His sister.
The text below blurred in his mind. He didn't need to read it. He had memorized it years ago.
> "Last seen being escorted by law enforcement. No follow-up conducted."
> "Case closed due to lack of evidence."
He folded it back, exhaling slowly.
"Clervaux, you're next."
---
Scene Shift – Back at Christopher's Apartment
That evening, Brendon and Christopher returned with more frustration than results. Christopher made tea; Brendon tossed his jacket aside and stared at the message Banik had sent.
Christopher read over his shoulder.
> "Repurposed fibre insulation, acid residue, construction-grade adhesive... From industrial sites. Narrowed down to a 3-kilometer segment."
Brendon leaned back. "We're close."
"Closer than before," Christopher corrected. "Still not close enough."
Just then, the news on TV blared again. Another reporting of a journalist on this case. But this time, something was different.
The anchor's voice carried urgency.
> "...and for the first time, investigators believe this might be the work of a copycat, due to changes in the killer's method..."
Christopher froze. "They noticed."
Brendon's eyes narrowed.
That meant someone within the force had acknowledged the possibility. Maybe Zuekh. Maybe someone else.
But it meant that things were shifting.
And shifting fast.
---
Late Night Walk – Brendon's Reflection
Brendon stepped out alone after midnight.
The city looked softer at night, but he knew better. The lights hid more than they revealed.
He lit a cigarette, letting the smoke dance in the cold air.
> Zuekh's file. The early years missing.
> Two different killer patterns.
> High-grade materials.
It didn't line up yet, but it would. Eventually.
Then he remembered something, a badger hybrid — was talking to someone while he and Christopher were roaming in a construction site in disguise.
> "Man, Matt was saying that even the devils now wear badges now."
At the time, Brendon thought it was a metaphor.
Now, he isn't so sure.
---
End Scene – Marion Clervaux's Office
The woman in the sharp suit poured herself a glass of wine in her home office.
The room was lined with commendations, medals, plaques for outstanding service. Portraits of herself with former chiefs. She sipped quietly, admiring her reflection in the darkened window.
A soft creak.
She turned.
Silence.
Then — a figure appeared behind her. Dressed in black, ghoul mask gleaming in moonlight.
Clervaux gasped and reached for her desk drawer.
Too late.
The masked figure lunged.
The wine glass shattered.