"Mark, you're careless. You shouldn't have misplaced the file."
"It wasn't my fault, alright? Stop putting all the blame on me!"
"Oh, so now you're turning it around? If it wasn't your fault, then whose was it?"
Their voices clashed inside the small car as it cut through the night. The man gripped the steering wheel, his eyes narrowed, while his wife sat beside him, her words annoying and loud. In the back seat, their baby boy, barely two years old sat quietly in his chair, watching his parents argue with wide confused eyes.
"Answer me!" she pressed.
"Fine, fine, it was my fault. I admit it, okay? I'm sorry for making you look bad at the appointment."
Her tone softened. "…I'm sorry too, for always blaming you."
He turned, glancing on her face for a moment. A faint smile touched his lips as he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead.
HOOONK!
The blaring horn of a massive truck shattered the moment. Headlights bore down on them, branches tied to its load rattling violently as the driver slammed the brakes.
"Watch out!"
Mark jerked the wheel, but it was too late. The truck plowed into the right side of the car, the impact hurling it violently off the road and into the forest beyond.
The truck driver fought to stop his own vehicle, heart pounding. When he finally skidded to a halt, he stumbled out, staring at the crushed family car lying deep within the trees. His hands shook as he fumbled for his phone to call for help.
Inside the wreckage, blood trickled from the couple's mouths and foreheads. Their bodies slumped lifelessly against their seats. Only the child remained alive, his wails piercing the silent forest. A shard of glass had carved across his small face, slashing from his forehead down beneath his left eye.
The car began to smoke. Flames licked at the hood, spreading fast. The baby cried louder, his tiny hands reaching out helplessly.
Then out of nowhere a masked figure dropped onto the burning car. With one swift strike, she tore the door from its hinges, reached inside, and pulled the child free.
In an instant, the figure dashed into the darkness, carrying the boy away just as the distant thrum of helicopter blades rang through the night sky, scanning the forest for signs of the crash.
"Do you copy, sir? We found the crash. It was Doctor Mark and Mrs. Jones in the car… both dead."
The rescue team moved in quickly. They put out the flames, then pulled the lifeless bodies from the wreck.
"What? Doctor Mark and Mrs. Jones? Did you check for a child?"
"No, sir. Only two bodies. And if there was a kid… there's no way he could've survived."
"Alright. Bring them to the lab."
"Roger that, sir."
"Take the bodies to Mr. Thiago's lab. We'll confirm the cause of the accident there."
---
At the police station, officers questioned the truck driver about what had happened.
"Officer, I swear I'm telling the truth. In that moment, I wasn't myself. It felt like something was controlling me."
One officer laughed. "Martin, listen to this guy."
"I'm not lying!" the driver shouted. "There's something out there… it's using people to kill. Something forced that truck! Please, you have to believe me."
"Hahaha. This guy's insane. He's wasting our time. Put him in a cell."
Two officers yanked his arms behind his back and dragged him toward the holding cells.
"Please! Don't do this! There's something out there, and it'll come for all of us. You need to stop it before it's too late!"
"Shut it. You were driving recklessly."
The cell door slammed shut.
The officer who had laughed earlier frowned. "Martin… you don't think there's even a chance he could be right?"
Martin shook his head. "Forget him. He's just crazy. Haa… I'm done for the night. My kids are waiting at home. You all get some rest too, we'll continue the investigation tomorrow."
"Yes, sir!"
Martin put on his coat and hat, then stepped out into the dark. The streets were quiet as he walked alone, unaware that someone's eyes were fixed on him from the shadows.
He whistled softly to himself. From above, a figure dropped from the streetlight and lunged.
Martin barely had time to react. "Who the hell—"
BANG!
The gunshot echoed down the empty street.
"Hahaha… you think a gun will work on me? Master… or should I say, former master."
Martin shoved the man off, raising his gun straight at him.
"It's you again, Joe. Stop stalking me from the shadows."
Joe turned slowly, revealing his messy dark hair and that twisted grin across his ugly face.
"You still remember me," he said. "Your student. The one you abandoned. Six years ago, when you handed us over to that monster in the lab. Do you remember? You sold us out, made us beg for scraps on the roadside while you looked the other way." His voice darkened. "I should've died there. But I didn't, my new master saved me. And now, I've come to repay the debt you left me with."
Martin's eyes widened, his hands trembling as he took a step back.
Joe advanced, Martin fired. Bullets tore through the air, five, ten, slamming into Joe's chest. But the man kept walking. The rounds sank into his body and stopped there, useless.
"You're wasting bullets, Martin," Joe sneered. "You can't admit defeat, can you?"
"No!" Martin's voice cracked.
"Then I'll make it easy for you."
In a blink, he vanished. The next moment, Martin felt cold steel pressing against his throat. Joe stood behind him, the knife steady in his hand.
"You killed us all, Martin. I'm the only one left. And because of people like you… this world is already rotting."
The blade slid across in one swift motion. Blood sprayed. Martin's body collapsed as his head rolled onto the pavement.
Joe leapt to the top of a lamppost, his figure swallowed by the night.
---
Morning Broadcast
Breaking News: Last night, at Westbrook Street, Officer Martin known for his dedication and years of service was found dead. The investigation is ongoing. On the same night, a tragic accident claimed the lives of Doctor Mark and Mrs. Jones.
The announcement blared through radios and televisions. In the crowded market, merchants and buyers froze, listening in silence.
"What's happening in this city?" one muttered.
"I'm scared," another whispered. "We need to be careful… there are murderers out there."
At the police station—
"Madam, calm down. When exactly did your daughter go missing?"
"For three days now," the woman answered nervously.
"Huh? Alright… don't worry. We'll do our best to find her. You can head home now."
"Thank you, officer."
"Next!"
Another man stepped forward.
"Sir, this morning I discovered two dead bodies behind my house."
"What! Alright, we'll send people to investigate immediately."
"Next."
"......."
"Next!"
"......."
When the line finally ended, the officer leaned back in his chair, yawning and stretching his arms. His face was drawn with exhaustion.
One of his colleagues approached. "Bro, you look dead tired."
"Of course I am. Over fifty people came in today, kidnappings, murders, disappearances. A quarter of the reports are kidnappings, the rest are murders. Why is this city falling apart?"
"We already lost Officer Martin. We can't afford to lose anyone else."
The officer sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah… it's terrifying. Let's go grab some coffee before I collapse here."
The group walked out together, their footsteps echoing down the quiet hallway.
---
At Westmoor Street, three massive trucks rumbled to a stop, their containers filled with drugs and weapons. They parked in front of Grand Leone Hotel, as if waiting for someone.
Moments later, a man emerged from the hotel doors. He was dressed head to toe in white polished shoes, a long coat, a wide-brimmed hat. In his hand, he carried a staff. Without a word, he climbed into his luxury Pangani Phantom, and the three trucks fell into line behind him.
High above, a figure crouched on a rooftop, watching. Her eyes narrowed. She swung her leg over her motorbike, twisted the key, and the engine roared to life. In the next instant, she shot off after them, sparks spitting from the tires as they tore across the asphalt.