The city's pulse was electric that night. Neon signs flickered against wet asphalt, reflecting fractured colors across puddles and windows. Arata paced the precinct, a storm of reports and maps surrounding him.
Every lead he had tracked, every criminal investigated, pointed to a singular truth: the Ribbon Reaper was closer than ever—and his precision suggested someone inside the police's inner circle.
He ran a gloved hand over the monitor. A live feed from downtown had just come in. The camera captured a hooded figure standing over a group of criminals cornered in an abandoned warehouse. A charred hat and the skull mask glimmered under the dim light.
Arata's jaw tightened. This is him. The Reaper is here.
Elsewhere, Lucian walked casually near the scene, the playful grin on his lips hiding the tempest within. But Kane's voice whispered: "They're closing in. Act. Take control."
The cheerful mask faltered. His golden eyes flickered black for a fraction of a second, just enough for Sera, watching from a nearby rooftop, to notice. Her heart skipped.
"Lucian… what's happening to you?" she whispered, gripping the railing.
Lucian forced a laugh. "Just… nerves. Nothing serious."
But inside, the three personalities were spinning like a storm:
Kane, calculating, ready to strike with deadly precision.
Lucian, the playful and romantic, struggling to hold control.
Arata, the moral, disciplined side—unaware of his inner connection but sensing external chaos.
In the warehouse, Kane moved like a shadow, circling his targets with terrifying accuracy. Fingers danced over gadgets, cameras, and restraints. The criminals screamed, recognizing too late the precision of their imminent punishment.
A crimson ribbon appeared, tied neatly to mark each crime—rapes, trafficking, corruption, all cataloged with ruthless judgment.
Lucian, trapped inside his own mind, could only watch as Kane executed judgment with surgical efficiency.
"This isn't me… I can't control this…" he whispered, panic rising.
Sera's voice broke through: "Lucian… don't let him take over!"
At the precinct, Arata monitored every camera feed, cross-referencing locations, and timestamps. He noticed one pattern that froze him in place:
The Reaper had access to information only someone inside the precinct could know. Every move mirrored Arata's investigation. Every strike anticipated his steps.
He rubbed his temple, heart hammering. "Impossible… no ordinary criminal… no outsider… it has to be someone here…"
The thought made the blood drain from his face.
Back at the warehouse, Kane had cornered a notorious gang leader. The ribbon was tied. The man's terrified eyes met the skull mask for the last time.
Suddenly, sirens wailed. Arata's team had arrived unexpectedly, surrounding the building. Kane froze. The pressure surged inside Lucian's mind. "Act or be caught," Kane hissed.
Lucian's childish, playful mask flickered weakly. He wanted to flee, to run from the storm inside him—but Kane's dominance overrode fear.
Kane slipped into the shadows just as Arata's team entered, leaving only chaos and whispers in his wake.
The city remained unaware of the near collision. Arata, shaken but unaware of Kane's presence, noted inconsistencies. "Someone… someone knew we'd be here. Someone… playing with us."
Lucian returned to the rooftop, drenched in rain, trying to regain his composure. Sera's eyes were sharp with concern.
"You're hiding something… you can't even control yourself," she whispered.
Lucian forced a weak smile. "I… I'm fine. Really."
But deep down, he knew the truth: the three sides of one man were spinning dangerously close to exposure, and the city's fate rested precariously on a knife's edge.