September 20, 2014, Osaka, Japan.
The night should have been quiet, only adorned by the gentle trickling of lingering rain. However, the silence was ripped apart by the wail of sirens. Blue and red lights spun wildly, reflecting emergency colors onto the facades of the tall, desolate buildings. On the wet streets, which still exuded the scent of damp earth and cold, patrol cars and official vehicles came to a screeching halt. Their tires squealed loudly, leaving behind trails of burnt rubber smell that mixed with the humidity in the air.
"Emergency situation, report quickly!" yelled a voice from a handy-talky.
"Secure the location! Immediately string up the police tape!"
Police officers poured out, their steps quick and decisive. A small house on the corner of an exclusive residential area was rapidly encircled by yellow police tape. The location, just minutes ago an ordinary dwelling, had now transformed into a stage of death.
Amidst the organized commotion, a black sedan pulled up silently. A man stepped out, his body taut, clad in a dark suit that seemed to repel the night light. His brown hair was neat, but the calm on his face was unusual. He was Detective Tanaka Kenji, from the Special Criminal Unit. He gave a brief nod to the officer guarding the tape, his silver badge flashing momentarily under the car lights.
"Detective Kenji, we've been waiting for you. The situation is not good," greeted a senior Inspector, his face grim.
"The report?" Kenji asked, his voice low. He didn't wait for an answer, instead stepping directly past the yellow tape.
"We only found the body here. No signs of forced entry, no struggle, no clear trace of the perpetrator. This is... confusing," explained the Inspector, following Kenji.
They arrived at the threshold of the bedroom door. The strong, pungent metallic smell of blood, mixed with a piercing antiseptic aroma, immediately assaulted Kenji's senses. He paused for a moment, allowing his mind to process the complexity of the odor—the smell of fresh blood, yet with a clinically clean nuance.
The body of a young woman lay on the bed, her skin pale blue. Kenji stepped closer, his eyes sweeping the scene.
"My God," Kenji hissed, his breath catching.
It was the wounds on the victim's body that made the scene so horrifying. Deep, long incisions on her arms and thighs, too neat and sterile for violence. They were exactly like surgical cuts, performed with a professional's precision. Even stranger, on the bedside table, lay a small petri dish. Inside it, a small piece of muscle tissue was neatly placed, as if it had just been removed and was being prepared for an experiment.
"You see, Detective? It's not natural for suicide," the Inspector said, his voice sounding choked.
Kenji shook his head slowly. "Impossible for someone to do this to themselves. At least, not in an undisturbed state of mind and with this level of precision."
"We thought so too. That's why we need the expertise of the Special Unit. This feels like a cold-blooded murder, but with a strange purpose." The Inspector extended his hand. "Let's work together, Detective. The victim is Shimizu Rika, 21 years old, a medical student at Osaka University."
Kenji firmly shook the hand. His gaze returned to the petri dish. "A medical student... that explains the scalpel."
Shortly after, a forensics team in white suits entered. A black body bag was laid out, its sound loud in the room that was beginning to feel heavy with silence. With trained movements, they lifted Rika's body. The blood-soaked white sheet came up too, a silent witness to the horror that had just occurred. Ziiip... The sound of the zipper closing was long, a curtain falling on a performance that had ended.
After the body was taken out, Kenji's attention shifted to the room. He allowed the forensics team to take samples while he focused on the victim's living space.
Outside, a clamor of reporters attempted to breach the police barricade.
"Detective! Is this a ritual murder?"
"Is there a black magic motive?"
"Is it true that the victim was involved in illegal research at Osaka University?"
"No comment! The investigation is still ongoing!" barked a police officer guarding the door, his voice hoarse.
Kenji ignored the commotion outside. His concentration was fixed on the victim's room. His trained eyes scanned every detail, searching for anomalies. In the living room, he saw a family photo: Rika smiling brightly, flanked by her parents, with the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty in the background.
He returned to the bedroom. Kenji noticed Rika's brown wooden study desk. Stacks of medical books were scattered, some open to complicated anatomical illustrations. He sensed something was wrong. A medical student oriented towards research should have neat notes. Yet, the books looked hastily read, even slightly neglected.
Kenji knelt down, opening the bottom drawer. It was locked.
"An screwdriver or small crowbar, please," he requested without turning around.
A senior officer immediately offered the tool. With an expert touch, Kenji pried open the drawer lock. Hidden inside, there was a thick folder. The folder was unlabeled, but its weight and texture felt important.
As he pulled out the folder, his heart pounded, not from fear, but from anticipation of a terrible answer. The title on the cover page was printed bold and prominent: "PROTOCOL OMEGA."
"Come here!" Kenji called, making the Inspector and a few officers approach.
He opened the first page. His eyebrows furrowed deep. His heart rumbled softly beneath his ribs. His voice was low and serious, breaking the forensic silence in the room.
"This... is not ordinary lecture notes."
He began reading a portion of the contents in a monotone, as if maintaining emotional distance from the horror before him: "The human body is the most perfect laboratory... 48-hour fasting to lower glucose... Creating sterile incisions on the arms and thighs using a scalpel..."
"Is this some kind of horror fiction novel?" asked a young officer, his tone sounding like a plea for this not to be real.
Kenji shook his head. "No. This is too procedural."
The atmosphere in the room immediately changed. The officers exchanged glances, curiosity replaced by a deepening dread.
Kenji continued, his voice getting lower: "...blood loss must be around 500 ml, recorded with a measuring beaker, to validate the initial phase..."
At that sentence, the young officer who had just asked the question had to turn away and cover his mouth, trying to suppress his nausea. The senior Inspector wiped his forehead, which was starting to sweat cold. This protocol did not just describe murder, but self-torture or an experiment performed with full awareness and scientific coldness.
"This is just the beginning. There are many pages here, complete with graphs and handwritten notes," Kenji said, closing the thick folder, as if closing Pandora's box.
"We need to take this for analysis at headquarters. Immediately! Ask the psychology team and the medical team to examine it," the Inspector said, his voice hoarse and stressed.
A heavy silence fell over the room. They were all quiet, processing how horrifying and cold the "protocol" they had just discovered was.
This went far beyond an ordinary murder case—this was a doorway to darkness methodically organized.
Kenji walked to the side of the bed, looking at the indentations on the mattress where Rika had been lying.
"Her phone? Her personal belongings?"
"Only a wallet and the family photo in the living room, Detective. No bag, no phone, no laptop."
Kenji wasn't satisfied. Impossible. A college student nowadays couldn't possibly not have a phone. It was the center of their lives. His suspicion intensified.
Did the perpetrator take it? Or did Rika hide it?
Kenji searched the room again, this time with much sharper eyes. He scanned the empty space under the bed, then returned to the study desk. He bent down, shining his small flashlight into the narrow gap between the desk legs and the wall.
Aha. There, tucked away, that was a black cellphone.
With nitrile gloves, he carefully picked it up. The phone was still in good condition, only slightly scratched.
"Got you," Kenji whispered. This was not just a clue, it was a digital key to Rika's mind. He immediately put it into a transparent evidence bag.
"Inspector," he called. "Please hand this over to the digital forensics team. This must be priority number one. I want to know who the victim communicated with, and, most importantly, who knew about this PROTOCOL OMEGA."
After the officer rushed away, Kenji returned to look at Rika's photo in the living room.
What experiment were you undergoing, Shimizu Rika? Were you the victim of this protocol, or the author?