Arvin's tone was sharp as he spoke.
"Chessie, remember to write down everything about the killings. You're still a rookie."
Chessie looked up at him with wide eyes, then placed her hand to her forehead in a playful salute.
"Ok sir!"
Arvin gave no reaction, only a glance, before stepping into the basement.
The first sight that greeted them was a woman sobbing. Her hair was dark brown, her golden eyes red from tears. She wore a dirt-stained cotton shirt and a colorful Pollera skirt. Her face was streaked with old tears, her body trembling as fresh ones poured.
Arvin approached, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. He slowly bent down and revealed a golden badge.
"Hello ma'am. I'm sorry for your loss. I'm Detective Arvin from the department. Please, can you explain what happened?"
His voice was flat, controlled.
The woman stuttered through her words.
"U-Um… I was out with friends. I left my husband and son here, thinking they'd be f-fine, but when I came b-back—"
Her voice cracked and she collapsed into louder sobs.
"If I had been here I could've done something! Why did this have to happen!"
Her grief poured out like a flood.
Chessie softened, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry for your loss… is there any way to make you feel better?"
The woman's expression twisted. Though tears streamed, her eyes sharpened with rage.
"I'll kill him. I'll kill that bastard. He murdered them, I swear I'll kill him!"
Arvin raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift. Chessie quickly pulled her hand back, startled. Arvin leaned closer, muttering quietly.
"Get her into therapy once I begin."
Chessie nodded, signaling a nearby officer.
After some time, the basement emptied. Only Arvin and Chessie remained.
Arvin rested his cane against the wall and stepped behind the overturned sofa. Two bodies lay under long white cloths. He crouched, gripping one edge.
"Let's see the damage."
He pulled back the cloth. A cold mist escaped.
The first body belonged to a young man, likely in his early twenties. His hair was already dull, his pale skin ghostly. The single wound was a clean gash across the chest near the lungs, surrounded by heavy bruising.
Arvin studied closely.
"Looking at this, the killer was skilled. A precise strike to the lungs, followed by blunt trauma… likely slammed to the ground. Yet nothing was stolen. Hate, perhaps? Or something else. Still, I can't say this is tied to the second body just yet."
He glanced at Chessie.
"Write it all down. Every detail."
"On it!" She scribbled quickly in her notebook.
"Now," Arvin muttered, "the killer may have held hatred for the father."
He moved to the next body. This one belonged to an older man, his build heavier. His lower half was a slaughterhouse of wounds—barely held together by scraps of skin. The stomach and thighs were riddled with stab marks, the flesh nearly hollowed out.
Arvin's face hardened.
"If this was the same killer, the difference is… drastic. These stabs are wild, unpracticed. Rage consumed him here, stabbing long after death. A complete loss of control."
He stood slowly, reaching into his coat pocket. From it, he withdrew a strange pen. It dripped with endless black ink, oily and alive.
He turned to Chessie.
"What happens if you talk to a dead body?"
Chessie tilted her head, tapping her pen against her lip.
"Nothing. It stays silent."
Arvin smirked.
"Correct. But… if you can cause the body to talk, what then?"
Her eyes lit up.
"Then the body will talk!"
A chilling aura radiated from Arvin. It seeped into the air, heavy and suffocating. Chessie clutched her chest, her heartbeat quickening.
"Splendid," Arvin whispered, his smile widening.
He raised the pen. Dark ink spilled into the air, and he began to write on nothing, letters suspended as though the air itself were parchment.
Cause: the dead body of the young adult has a voice.
Effect: it can freely talk to Arvin.
The words glowed before dissolving into the room. A gust of air rippled through, stirring their coats.
Chessie's jaw dropped, her eyes wide with awe.
The young man's body twitched. Slowly, his eyes opened. For a moment, carved numbers glowed faintly across them.
7ft.
Arvin's grin sharpened.
"So, you were a stacker."
The numbers faded. His pale eyes rolled back, then steadied in dull, lifeless sockets. The corpse shuddered, then rose to its feet.
Arvin calmly tucked the pen away, clasping his hands behind his back. His voice was smooth, almost polite
"Please, describe to me the man who soullessly took your life… who took everything from you."