The rain refused to stop. It turned the city into a maze of glistening puddles, distorted neon, and restless shadows. Somewhere between law and chaos, the Ribbon Reaper's legend grew louder.
[At the Precinct – Arin Under Pressure]
Arin sat stiff at the conference table, black hair neatly combed though his eyes betrayed exhaustion. The room was heavy with tension. Crime scene photos covered the board—black ribbons, red ribbons, dead men with their crimes exposed.
Inspector Rao slammed a fist down. "This Reaper is mocking us! Broadcasting crimes live, leaving neat packages of evidence like it's a damn theatre show."
Arin kept his voice calm. "But… the proof he leaves is real. Every victim has been guilty. Rapists, traffickers, killers… none of them innocent."
Silence fell. For a moment, no one knew whether to agree or condemn. Finally, Rao growled, "Justice isn't his to give. That's the law. And you, Arin, better not admire this monster. Find him before the city crowns him a hero."
Arin clenched his jaw, a storm churning inside. He wanted order. But part of him—an aching, buried part—felt something dangerous stir whenever he saw the ribbons.
Later, Maya cornered him near the evidence room. Her dark eyes searched his face.
"Arin… tell me honestly. Do you know who the Reaper is?"
He blinked, startled. "What? No. Why would you think that?"
"Because every time he strikes, you're absent. Every time I look at you, I feel like you're… not here."
Her voice cracked slightly, carrying both love and fear. "Please, Arin. Don't disappear on me."
He reached for her hand, forcing a smile. "I won't. I promise."
But deep down, guilt gnawed at him—because he didn't know if he could keep that promise.
The city's underbelly pulsed with paranoia. Kael's name spread like wildfire in whispers.
Tonight, Kael stood before three monitors, silver hair glowing in the screen's light. He watched encrypted chats of corrupt officials arranging secret deals. His hands typed commands faster than lightning, breaking into their files, their accounts, their lives.
"They call me a ghost," he murmured, mask resting beside him. "But I am no ghost. I am the proof that sins cannot hide."
His next target: a politician who sold city contracts to fund illegal weapon shipments.
Kael hacked into the man's penthouse security, every camera looping. He walked through the front door unnoticed, a demon draped in shadows.
When the man begged, Kael streamed his confession live, displaying bank records, emails, photographs—irrefutable evidence. The politician's final moment came with a blue ribbon tied on his wrist.
A new color. A new crime judged.
By morning, the city buzzed.
Elsewhere, in a flower market buzzing with life, Lucian barged through with his usual chaos. Blonde hair bouncing, grin wide, voice loud—he was the exact opposite of Kael's shadow.
"Roses for my lovely Sera!" he declared, nearly knocking over a stand. "No, no, wait—lilies! No, better yet, chocolates shaped like lilies!"
Sera folded her arms, laughing despite herself. "Lucian, you're impossible."
"Impossible to resist," he winked. Then, leaning closer, he whispered, "Life's too short not to play. If I ever get serious, you'll see me in a way you won't forget."
There was something oddly chilling in his tone, a reminder that beneath the playfulness lived the same fractured soul as Kael and Arin.
Back at the precinct, Arin opened a folder that made his blood run cold. It was the politician's case—scheduled for next week's investigation.
The Ribbon Reaper had gotten there first. Again.
He touched the photo of the ribbon, his hand trembling. He couldn't understand why each crime scene felt like déjà vu… why every ribbon seemed tied by his own hands.
"Who are you?" he whispered to himself.
And somewhere in the depths of his mind, Kael's voice echoed faintly—unheard by him, but clear to the reader:
"I am you. The part you cannot control."