I was just sitting in my office, regretting that I didn't accept Susan's payment since my rent was due today. I'd asked Michael to use the last favour he owed me to cover it, but he refused and said he needed money for the electric bills. I had to come up with a way to earn money by today if I wanted a roof over my head.

Then the phone rang. For once, I was hopeful, thinking luck was finally on my side. But it wasn't. The speaker on the other end was the girl's mother, Margarette Springfield. Her voice trembled, sounding as if she was forcing herself to speak properly and not fall apart into sobs. I asked if something was wrong, then followed up by asking if John was assaulting her again. But it wasn't that. After a long pause, she finally told me her daughter had been murdered.
I couldn't speak. I tried to process her words, but they hit me like a gut punch. I asked what happened, and she started to explain everything to me as if I was a family member.

It started lightheartedly. She said that in the past week, everything went smoothly for their family. The staff at Titan Capital Dynamics all got a large bonus in an attempt to forget about the scandal where their CEO was exposed for having an affair with the Vice President, Patrick. I guess they have me to thank for that, but they never knew who the guy in the trench coat was. She told me she used that money to pay off all their remaining debt and bills. John started to actually talk things through with her, casting down his pride and ego and, surprisingly, cutting off the alcohol as I suggested. He quit his job as a mechanic and started working on his old truck, turning it into a food truck like he'd always wanted with the help of some friends. Crazy to see how things work so fast in a week.

Then she got to the topic of the girl...

Margarette's voice on the other end of the line was barely holding together as she recounted the events of last night. She told me that her daughter wanted to call me because she missed me. I felt a pang in my chest hearing that. But Margarette, thinking it wouldn't be nice to bother me because she assumed I was a very busy person, told her no. The girl kept pressing, insisting she wanted to call me, and Margarette kept declining. In truth, I wouldn't mind if she called, I'd have picked up the phone immediately.

Eventually, she got upset and locked herself in her room. Around midnight, they went to check on her. Using her room key, they opened the door only to find her gone, the window wide open. They panicked. They searched frantically, calling the police while John drove around the neighbourhood with his friends, looking for her. Margarette's voice cracked as she described the search. Nearly three hours passed before they found one of her blue ribbons, the ones that tied her hair into twin tails, lying on the sidewalk in front of an abandoned factory. The same building she'd mentioned to me at the park. I remembered her words about the growling noises she'd heard there, she must have thought that if she found whatever it was in there, then she would have had a valid reason to call me. I shouldn't have encouraged her... 

When John and his friends entered the building to look for her. they immediately caught a foul stench upon entering, the smell of a rotting corpse. They split up, with some searching the upper floors and others going to the basement. Margarette's sobs grew louder as she continued. It was in the upper floors that they found her. Or what was left of her...

Her small, severed hand clutched the silver card I'd given her, lying in a pool of blood in a hallway. A broken phone lay next to it. Her voice trembled, sorrow choking her words. She struggled to continue, but the pain was too much. I could feel it through the phone, her devastation, her heartbreak. I wanted to say something, anything, to comfort her, but I was at a loss. How could I comfort a mother who had just lost her child in such a brutal, senseless way?
Margarette continued, her voice quivering after a few minutes of crying, telling me they called the police and an investigation was underway. It turned out their daughter wasn't the only victim. 

They found other severed limbs of several people, presumably those who had gone missing months ago. A finger here, a foot there, and the most horrific discovery was a woman's scalp with long brown hair still attached. The police hadn't been able to find the murderer, and Margarette's voice trembled with the pain of it. In the background, I could hear John's cries, raw and unfiltered. He was thrashing ornaments and tables, screaming and crying. It was a family torn apart, broken beyond repair. Realising I had been silent too long, I finally spoke, offering my services to find the culprit. But Margarette gently declined. She insisted that the police would catch the murderer and make him pay. Then she asked if I would join their daughter's funeral being held the next day. I agreed, of course. It was the least I could do. But I don't know if I could bring myself to even look at her picture during the funeral.

Margarette attempted to end the call, saying she just wanted to tell me because her daughter really looked up to me as a role model. The weight of her words hit me like a ton of bricks. Guilt and self-loathing washed over me. Before she could hang up, I stopped her and asked, "What's her name? Your daughter's name. I never got to know."

Her voice was soft and tearful as she replied, "Lily. Lily Springfield."

I closed my eyes, feeling the ache in my chest deepen. "That's a lovely name," I said.

And then, before she could say anything else, I hung up the phone. The silence in my office felt heavier than ever.  

The mix of emotions swirling inside me felt like a storm ready to burst. Rage, anger, sadness, self-loathing—they all clashed within me, leaving me on the edge of losing control. I gripped the edge of my desk tightly, the wood groaning under the pressure, while my other hand covered my face, my attempt to hide myself from the world.

"Why?" I asked the empty room. Why did it have to be her? Why Lily? Was it because I allowed myself to get comfortable with her? Because she made me feel at ease in this dark world? 

"Or... was it because she reminded me so much of her?"

The last question cut deeper than the others, a painful reminder of a past I'd rather forget. But I couldn't think about that now. Not with the raw wound of Lily's death still bleeding.
I cursed under my breath, the anger boiling over. "I'll find the fucker responsible for this," Yes, that's what I'll do. I'm an investigator for bugger's sake. I'll find the murderer and make and I will make him pay. I'll make him wish he had never been born.

The image of Lily, smiling and full of life, flashed before my eyes. I owed it to her. To her mother, Margarette. To every victim whose life was snuffed out by this Psychopath. Whoever he was, wherever he was hiding, I'd hunt him down and bring him to justice!

........

......

....

"Ha... Haha!... Hahaha!"

 It didn't take long for me to realise I was laughing like a madman and felt a tear roll down my right eye as I did. Something inside me snapped. I started to laugh again, a hollow, broken sound that echoed in the small office "HAHAHA!!!"

When I finally came to, I felt nothing else but immense hatred towards myself. "Bullshit," I muttered, the laughter dying off as quickly as it had come. "...Who the hell am I kidding?"

The desk I'd been gripping broke apart, the wood splintering under my pressure. I stood up abruptly, grabbing what was left of the desk and hurling it against the wall. It shattered into pieces. I was pent up with rage, with frustration. Have I really gone insane? "Who am I fucking kidding?!" I screamed at the wall.

I knew what caused those killings, and it was no human. I wasn't naive enough to believe that this world operated solely on shitty luck. Wrong place wrong time? Psychotic murderers on the loose? People missing one after the other? There was more to this existence, more lurking in the shadows than anyone dared to acknowledge. I took a deep breath, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. I knew what I had seen, what I had been through what I had experienced... What I had done in past... There were things out there hiding within the shadows of the night, things that human eyes were too ignorant and simple to ever comprehend. Lily was right... I should have known better. I should have paid attention to what she said. Because in truth... there are monsters in this world and I don't mean monsters like Hitler or Disney. Actually fucking monsters.

This wasn't just a manhunt. This was something far darker, far more dangerous. And I was one of the few who knew the truth. But unlike the others, I was different. I'm sure that was already obvious to some of you. I was something far worse than any monster hiding in the dark. I was their nightmare, their predator and hunter. And now, I was coming for them... again.

I looked over at the mirror, its surface fractured by a piece of the desk I had shattered. Multiple faces stared back at me from the broken glass, each one a fragmented reflection of my anger and turmoil. And then, I saw it—one of the reflections had eyes glinting yellow. It wasn't a trick of the light. It was a reminder. A promise I made long ago surfaced in my mind. A vow to leave behind a past filled with blood, fear, and violence. To no longer be a tool for killing. To no longer become... him.

But right now, I'm really pissed off. So, fuck those promises and vow.

I reached down and grabbed my revolver from the pile of what used to be my desk, sliding it into my waistband. Then I picked up my black trench coat and fedora. I tossed the trench coat across my shoulder and spread my arms, feeling the familiar weight of it as the coat came alive. It fixed itself around me, the buttons fastening on their own. I took a deep breath, looking through the windows. There was a Storm again... 

I stepped through the door, locking it behind me, and put on my fedora as I walked under the stormy rain, making my way back to Manhattan.

~~~

I arrived at the abandoned building in Hell's Kitchen, as the hands on my watch crept toward midnight. The structure loomed before me, a decrepit relic of some forgotten industry. Probably used to be a paper or cement factory, or both. Oddly enough, this place is quite distant from the nearest residential areas and makes a perfect hiding place for whatever it is I'm after. The gates that should have prevented people from entering were rusted and broken apart, this must be where Lily entered. The walls of the building were scarred with graffiti, windows shattered, and the roof sagging like the spine of a broken beast. The building seemed to breathe in the night air, exhaling a sense of foreboding that would make any thrill-seeking teenager's skin crawl. It also smells horrible. I crossed the threshold, stepping over the yellow police tape fluttering like a dying breath in the breeze.

Inside, the stench hit me like a sledgehammer. I immediately covered my nose, the smell of decay and remnants of rotting corpses so potent it made my stomach churn. The air was thick with the sickly sweet scent of old blood, mixed with the acrid tang of something far more malevolent. This place reeked of fear, suffering, and something else—something dark and ancient that defied rational explanation. The atmosphere was oppressive, pressing down on me like a physical weight. I could feel the malevolence seeping from the walls, a palpable presence that seemed to watch me, waiting for my next move. It knows I'm here. A new prey has arrived is probably what it's thinking... If only it knew who I was...

I ascended the creaking staircase to the second floor, the fact that my steps were probably echoing across the building due to the silence would let the whole of China know where I was.  Margarette said this floor was where they found Lily's body. The thought alone was enough to stir something deep inside me again. As I reached the landing, another yellow police tape came into view. It was low-hanging between two rusted pipes on each end of the hallway, just behind it was the crime scene of all the victims. And there was Lily's under the shattered windows plastered with dried blood. I stepped over it, feeling a sudden chill in the air.
The moonlight through the broken windows cast dim lighting in the area, but I didn't need any lighting, I could perfectly see it even if the sun disappeared. My eyes locked onto the chalk outline on the floor where the dried blood ends. Lily's severed hand was sketched out in brutal detail at the centre. The sight stopped me in my tracks. I stared at that chalk outline, memories of Lily at the park flashing before me. Her bright smile, her infectious giggle, her cheeky attitude, she was filled with hopes and dreams, like all children do. Now... all that was left of her was a pale blue arm...

How... How the hell does this even happen? Why would they start murdering people now? What the hell is the Agency doing?!

As I stared at it, I heard the sound of bones cracking, only to realise that it was my bones that were cracking. My hands were curled into fists as they trembled. I never felt this pissed before. I shouldn't think about them anymore, I left the Agency for good. If they won't do their damn job then I will. 

The sound of a distant drop of water echoed through the building, the wind whistling through a crack in the wall. Leaving the second floor behind, I continued up the stairs. The higher I climbed, the stronger the malevolent feeling grew. This place reeked of death and darkness. The thing that had taken Lily's life was still here, lurking in the shadows. I reached the fourth floor, the final level of this decrepit building. It was a wasteland of broken furniture, shattered glass, and graffiti-covered walls. The metal beams were filled with rust, it cracked with each push of the wind. The ceiling sagged in places, threatening to collapse. Moonlight streamed through holes in the roof, casting ghostly patterns on the floor. The air was thick with dust and the scent of rot. As I stopped in my tracks, I felt it—a presence, watching me from the shadows. I could sense its eyes on me, cold and calculating, fierce and savage... Hungry. 

Growing annoyed, I called out, "Alright, show yourself already."

Silence answered me at first, then the unmistakable click of a revolver's hammer being pulled back. Figures emerged from the corners, dressed in ripped hoodies, shirts, jeans, and sneakers. The leader, I assumed, a guy with a scar running down his cheek dressed in an oversized polo shirt and saggy pants, a goatee, gross, and nose piercings held a revolver pointed straight at me. Call me racist but he's probably Hispanic judging by the stereotypical sense of fashion; saggy pants and an oversized shirt under an open jacket.... Three out of five of them wore a bandana. Mexicans. The others wielded crowbars and wooden baseball bats, their faces twisted with sneers and mocking grins.

The scarred thug pointed at me, his voice dripping with derision, and a Hispanic accent. "Look at this guy, thinks he can just waltz in here like a pota. Are you lost officer?"

The others snickered, their laughter bouncing off the decaying walls. I sighed, not out of frustration but sheer annoyance. I locked eyes with each of them, if they could see my face clearly then they would see my expression nonchalantly despite the weapons aimed at me. "Great... Casualties..." I couldn't help but sigh once more.