Night had fallen; the distant wail of an ambulance siren echoed through the air.
Responding to an anonymous call, SKILL agents had already taken control of the interior of Harborline Cargo Services. Yet the facility was eerily empty, and the caller was nowhere to be found.
At some point, a woman wandered into the area, only to be stopped by one of the SKILL personnel.
"Stop. This area is restricted. Turn around and leave."
The woman halted mid-step.
Her gaze shifted calmly to the agent blocking her path, lingering for a moment on the uniform, the insignia and the weapon at his side.
Then she replied, almost nonchalantly, with a neutral expression.
"Ah... I forgot there was something like this. Here's my identification."
His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning her face for a moment. Then, slowly, his hand came up and took the card from between her fingers.
A brief pause followed as he glanced down at the ID.
The agent's gaze flicked between the card and her face once more. As if he was trying to make a connection.
"Sandra Rousseau. You're from the MDCC?"
"Yep. Any issue?"
"No, there's none. Please forgive my rudeness but why do you look different from your photograph?"
"It's an old photograph. I forgot to renew it."
"You forgot?"
That earned a faint frown.
He turned the card slightly, checking the embedded seal, then angled it toward the nearby floodlight. Finding nothing suspicious, the SKILL agent exhaled quietly under his breath then handed the ID card back:
"…You'll be escorted. Give me a moment."
He gestured to another operative nearby, who straightened and approached.
"Take her through Sector B. She wants a look."
The second agent gave a short nod, then turned to the woman.
"This way."
She stepped forward, passing the first agent without another word.
The warehouse stretched wide and hollow, filled with nothing but towering shelves and towering shelves. Yellow tape fluttered lazily in the artificial breeze from industrial fans, marking off sections that had already been cleared.
"Sector B," the escorting agent muttered. "This is where the call was traced to."
"…No signs of forced entry?"
"None. All access points were sealed when we arrived. But... um... there is something else."
"Something else? Can you be more specific?"
"It would be best if you take a look at it yourself."
"Mm."
They passed a cluster of SKILL personnel gathered near a collapsed section of cargo. Two of them stepped aside as she approached, their conversation cutting off mid-sentence.
"…Ma'am."
Sandra didn't respond immediately. Her attention had already settled on the wreckage.
A massive load had fallen from above. The steel cables had clearly snapped, and the pulley system hung twisted under the strain.
Beneath it, a dark fluid had spread outward, staining the concrete red. The metallic scent in the air made it unmistakable. Even without closer inspection, it was obvious what had happened here.
Still, she crouched.
Up close, the details sharpened. The blood hadn't fully dried, yet it wasn't fresh either. It had begun to settle and thicken at the edges.
Which meant this scene was rather recent, very much so.
How interesting.
What could have caused this? Was it truly an accident… or something else?
She straightened, the faint crease in her expression deepening as possibilities flickered through her mind. Then, just as quickly, she set them aside and returned her focus to the present.
"What am I looking at?"
The agent beside her slightly shifted their weight.
"Death by impact damage. We assumed it was an accident."
"An accident, hm." Her tone was mild, almost conversational. "That's the obvious conclusion when faced with a scene like this."
"Unfortunately."
"The cable. How did it snap?"
The agent hesitated then said, "…We're still looking into that."
"Worn out? Structural fatigue?"
"That's one possibility."
"And the others?"
"…Interference."
"Interference?"
"A clean failure like this doesn't quite match the condition of the rest of the system. There's… inconsistency."
"Inconsistencies, you say."
Murmuring to herself, Sandra looked back at the severed line.
It was frayed, but not entirely. A small, almost imperceptible detail caught her attention.
Something she might have missed if she hadn't been looking straight at it.
"I see."
She stepped closer, just enough to study the broken cable without crossing into the restricted zone.
"This is heavily worn. But it didn't give out on its own. The pattern's inconsistent. More likely, something weakened it first… then finished the job. A clean cut layered over natural strain. Which would definitely explain why the cargo fell."
"You're suggesting sabotage?"
"I'm suggesting it's one of several possibilities. At this stage, we don't have much to work with. Just the fact that someone met an unfortunate end." A faint pause followed. "Though I doubt there's much left to bury."
The agent's expression tightened, a flicker of unease passing through his eyes.
"…Yes."
Silence settled between them for a moment.
Sandra's gaze drifted once more across the wreckage then asked,
"Was he alone when it happened?"
The agent folded his arms, his expression tightening as he gathered his thoughts.
"Actually, that's the strange part," he said. "Due to GrimCity's general curfew, no employees are permitted to work past 9 p.m., primarily for security reasons. By all accounts, the facility should have been empty."
His gaze shifted briefly toward the wreckage.
"Yet this individual remained behind… and ended up crushed beneath the load. That alone already violates protocol."
Eveline's eyes narrowed.
"Has the manager been thoroughly questioned?"
"He has," the agent replied. "But he insists all employees clocked out by 7 p.m." A faint crease formed between his brows. "Which doesn't add up."
"Because someone else made the call," she said, almost absently.
"That's right."
"Then why hasn't your department traced the caller? Tracking a smartphone shouldn't pose much difficulty."
"It would've been simple If they'd used one."
"What? They didn't?"
He shook his head.
"The call came from an old public prepaid telephone."
A change occurred in the atmosphere. It was as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over their heads.
Such was the horror of violence.
"…I see."
Murmuring those simple words, Sandra Rousseau rubbed her chin with both arms crossed, growing more thoughtful as she skillfully analyzed everything she had gathered so far.
From the looks of it, this seems like a murder disguised to look like an unfortunate accident.
But there are many things that don't make sense.
First of all…
The timing is too suspicious.
Her gaze drifted once more to the severed cable, then to the spreading stain beneath the wreckage.
If this were premeditated, then the culprit either knew the victim would be here… or ensured that he stayed behind.
Secondly, the manager claims everyone left by 7 p.m. That could be a lie… but it's a clumsy one. Too easy to verify. Which means he either truly believes it… or he's covering for something else.
And lastly, there's the unknown call.
Whoever made that call didn't want to be found… but still wanted us here. This is an obvious contradiction and the most confusing part.
If the goal was to hide the body, they wouldn't have called it in.
If the goal was to lure SKILL… then why stage something this crude?
Unless.
She considered another possibility.
Is it perhaps a caller who witnessed everything or a caller who is the real killer but ended up feeling guilty and reported to the authorities?
A multitude of possibilities surfaced in her mind, branching into different scenarios—each plausible, yet none concrete enough to stand on its own.
In the end, they were nothing more than conjecture.
There was no decisive lead she could confidently follow.
…Or perhaps, here was.
Without another word, Sandra reached into her coat and retrieved her phone. With practiced ease, she dialed a number and raised it to her ear, her expression settling into quiet focus as she waited for the line to connect.
The line clicked.
"What do you want?"
An irritated voice answered immediately.
Sandra's lips curved faintly.
"Hmm. What's wrong? You sound especially grumpy tonight."
"You're calling me this late. What did you expect? You know what, forget it. Why are you calling? Did something happen on your end?"
"Something like that," she replied lightly. "The situation here is… a bit complicated. I need you to use those special eyes of yours."
"My eyes?"
A brief silence followed, then a quiet exhale.
"Ah… I see. if you're asking for that, you're looking for someone, aren't you?"
"I suppose you could say that."
Her smile deepened, subtle yet to an almost frightening degree.
"I'm looking for a rather naughty little sinner… who seems intent on running away."