Damon Vale and Alex Chu crouched in the flowerbed beside the Liberal Arts Hall, staring at each other like two idiots caught in the dark.
"I asked you at noon what you thought about that thing they found missing in the lab," Alex grumbled, "and you wait until nighttime to give me your answer. Seriously? You knew something was up, and you let me drag myself out of bed to come here. I swear you enjoy torturing me."
Damon rolled his eyes.
"Didn't you see what that scalp looked like?"
"I got dizzy. You know I don't handle gore well," Alex muttered.
"And you call yourself a cop?"
"As everyone knows, I got in through family connections," Alex said, standing and stretching like someone who had already given up on life.
"That scalp isn't from one of the anatomy lab cadavers," Damon said. "Those bodies have been marinating in formalin for years. Students poke at them every semester. There's no way any of them still have fresh blood in the skin."
He tapped a finger against his knee.
"And that tissue? It was soft. Fresh. Whoever it belonged to died not long ago—or the skin was preserved really, really carefully."
Alex stared at him like Damon had sprouted horns.
"Bro… did you like… take it out and examine it?"
"I was there when they found it," Damon said. "I'm a witness. Of course I looked before the officers arrived."
"Oh great, fresh human skin. So that means…" Alex pulled out a cigarette, tried to light it—wind blew the lighter out. He tried again, and again. No spark.
"It's fresh," Damon said. "Nobody's reported a missing person or assault, so this is probably homicide."
Alex, unable to get the lighter to cooperate, threw both the cigarette and lighter to the ground and stomped on them in frustration.
"So that means I'm not going home tonight."
Damon stared at him with an expression that said: You cannot possibly be this stupid.
Alex really was a strange cop—when homicide happened, his first thought was losing sleep.
"Officer Chu!"
A voice boomed from the entrance of the building.
A middle-aged man stood by the doors of Liberal Arts Hall.
"That's my brother-in-law," Alex muttered. "Everyone else's in-laws spoil them. Mine tries to work me to death."
He slapped on his police cap.
"Come on. You're coming with me."
"Captain Sanders," Alex said as they approached, "I'm gathering witness statements. This is Damon Vale—also a witness where the skin was found."
Captain Sanders had a strong, square-jawed face, a buzz cut, and the no-nonsense aura of someone who'd been a detective too long to be impressed by anything.
"You finish your statement?" he asked Damon.
Damon nodded. "Everything I know is in the report."
"Good." Sanders turned to Alex. "The university's authorized a full-ground search. We don't have the manpower. Get help from campus security or the student government—anyone reliable. We need bodies on the ground."
"Yes, sir."
Alex walked away—and immediately muttered, "This is bullshit. Why a full sweep?"
"You found a human scalp, not someone's toenail," Damon said. "A blanket search is obvious."
"Damon, I swear, it'd be great if all murderers were like you—if they'd just kill and dump the parts neatly so I wouldn't have to play janitor afterwards."
Damon stared at him.
"…"
⸻
THE SEARCH BEGINS
Police officers paired with student volunteers. The university lit up the whole campus—athletic field lights, building lights, parking lot floodlights. Students carried flashlights, phone flashlights, anything that could illuminate the ground.
Seven to eight hundred people moved across the quad and buildings, fanning out from the Liberal Arts Hall where the scalp had been discovered.
And results came fast.
Human flesh in the flowerbeds.
Human flesh in the classrooms.
Human flesh in the restrooms.
Human flesh shoved behind a vending machine.
Within an hour, more than a dozen scattered pieces had been found.
Morbidly, the searchers grew more enthusiastic—the higher the discovery rate, the more excited they became. It was like a twisted scavenger hunt.
Alex and Damon, of course, were slacking off, as usual.
Forced into the police academy by his family, Alex had developed the kind of rebellious streak that practically begged to get him fired. The fact that he had even joined that secret "Murder Club" with Damon and the others said enough.
Xun'er (their old clubmate) once joked that all four of them were mentally ill—and honestly, she wasn't wrong.
"They're literally searching for chunks of a corpse," Alex said, leaning against a tree. "Feels like they're playing a treasure hunt."
"That's human nature," Damon replied, scanning the dark with sharp eyes. Then suddenly—
"Don't move."
"Huh?"
Alex blinked.
Following Damon's gaze, he slowly raised his head.
Above him, in the branches of the tree he was leaning on, was a large birds' nest. And inside the nest sat something dark.
"Give me your hands," Damon said. "Boost me up."
Alex laced his fingers together, crouched, and Damon stepped onto his hands. With a shove, Damon vaulted upward, grabbed a branch with one hand, and reached into the nest with the other.
His fingers touched something cold. Wet. Furry.
A wave of dread crawled over his skin.
He jumped down and tossed the object to Alex.
Alex caught it—and stared.
"That's… that's a whole head."
"Your luck is unnatural," Damon said. "You slack off and still find murder evidence."
Alex stared at the severed female head in his arms. The eyes, nose, and mouth were oozing blood, giving it a grotesque, wet shine.
Yet he still managed to crack a joke.
Classic Alex.
He dialed Captain Sanders.
"Hey, uh, hi—bro—"
"It's working hours," Sanders snapped through the speaker. "Don't call me—"
Click.
Alex hung up again.
He glared at Damon.
"Are all cops this uptight?"
Damon took the head, turned on his phone flashlight, and inspected it calmly.
"Female. Early twenties. Probably a student here."
That was all he could tell without proper instruments. Damon wasn't a coroner—and right now he didn't feel like doing a deeper exam.
Captain Sanders called back.
Alex answered.
"Hello—"
"You hung up on me, didn't you—"
Click.
Alex hung up again.
He crouched beside Damon, staring at the head like they were two kids observing a weird frog.
They were privileged kids, sure—but unlike other rich brats who crashed cars and partied with sorority girls, these two liked things far stranger. Things that were almost… explosive.
"How many pieces did they find earlier?" Damon asked.
Alex computed.
"Seventy, maybe eighty. Now? Probably over a hundred."
"Someone's copying the original." Damon's tone sharpened. "You know which case this is, right?"
Alex gave him a look.
"Even if I'm a shitty cop, I know that one. The dismemberment case from ten years ago."
Damon nodded.
"This year marks the anniversary.
And someone's using a fresh murder…
to pay tribute."