The room smelled of perfume and sweat, the kind that didn't belong to passion but to struggle. The curtains sagged low, shutting out the world. On the carpet, the young woman's body was stretched toward a phone she would never reach. Her last breath still seemed to linger in the air.
Detective Hale stood over her, cigarette ember glowing faint in the dimness. His partner- Dave lingered near the doorway, scribbling notes but too unsettled to come closer. Hale let the smoke curl from his lips as his eyes traced the scene.
"She didn't die quick," he said softly. "The attacker wanted more than her life. She wanted her dignity. She wanted her broken."
Dave looked up. "How can you tell?"
Hale crouched low, gloved fingers brushing the carpet near the victim's hand. He closed his eyes, and the smoke in his lungs seemed to twist into shapes—images no one else could see. In his mind, the room came alive again: the outsider, a predator cloaked in power, forcing the woman into acts too vile to speak aloud. Humiliation carved into every second. A kiss pressed where no kiss should be. Resistance crushed under cruelty.
"She woke up after," Hale whispered, eyes opening again. "Half-dead, but not finished. She tried to crawl for that phone. Almost made it. Then the dark took her."
Dave's face tightened. "So the killer… she's one of them?"
Hale exhaled smoke that drifted like a shadow across the room. For a heartbeat, his eyes glowed faintly in the haze. "Yeah. An outsider. But not just any kind. This one knew exactly how to erase a soul without shedding a drop of blood."
He rose, brushing ash from his coat. "Call it in. Let the cops do their dance. The body goes to the coroner, the reports pile up. But make no mistake—this isn't a killing we've seen before. This is a message."
Blue lights bled across the windows as uniforms stormed the apartment. Radios crackled, boots thudded, cameras flashed. To anyone else, it was just another crime scene. To Detective Hale, it was a battlefield scar left by something far older, far stranger.
He stood near the window, cigarette ember glowing faint in the gloom, while his partner Dave slipped in beside him. Dave's eyes kept straying back to the body as the coroner's team zipped the bag.
"Hale," Dave muttered low, "we need to talk."
Hale exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "About what?"
"Don't do that." Dave's jaw flexed. "This isn't the first time. You know it. The reports we've been getting, the pattern—it all lines up. Outsiders."
Hale said nothing, only watched the smoke curl upward like writing only he could read.
Dave pressed on. "Every other case, the killer left something. Not writing, not words. Clues. Codes. Like they wanted us to find them. But here?" He swept a glance around the room. "Nothing. Clean. Too clean."
"That's the point," Hale murmured. "She didn't slip. Not this one."
Dave cursed under his breath. "Shit. Just when we thought we were finally closing in on one, another shows up. How many of them are out there, Hale?"
Before Hale could answer, a uniform called from the hall. "Detectives! You'll want to see this."
They followed the officer to a closet where a false panel had been pried open. Behind it, a narrow stairwell descended into darkness. The air was damp, the kind that carried secrets.
At the bottom lay a basement hidden from the world. The walls were papered with maps, photographs, and newspaper clippings strung together in red thread. Journals, files, coded symbols littered the desk.
Dave whistled low. "She was researching them. Outsiders. She was close. Too close."
Hale's gaze drifted across the boards, the lines connecting names, the circles drawn around places he recognized. This wasn't random obsession—it was method. She had been hunting truth, and truth had killed her first.
He pulled a folder from the desk, its pages thick with symbols and dates. Tucking it under his arm, he spoke in a voice that left no room for doubt. "This wasn't just a killing. It was a warning. If she was this close…" He tapped the folder. "…then so are we."
Dave's throat bobbed. "And when we find them? What then?"
Hale lit a fresh cigarette, the flame briefly painting his face in amber. He let the ember glow steady in the dark as he answered.
"Then we find out if Outsiders BLEED 🩸."
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