"This isn't good."
The office was especially busy, a thrum of tensioned murmurs filling the air now that the news had already spread: Han Longwei was dead.
"It's been only two months since he started and he's already committed his 39th murder," muttered John Lee, an American-born Chinese working as a Junior crime investigator at A-plus Investigations, a private investigation firm associated directly with Guangzhou Police Station. "THIS IS MADNESS! Su young. SU YONG, are you even listening!?" John cried, throwing his arms in the air.
"Calm down." Su Yong sighed as she peeked over her cubicle. "It's too early for your crap."
"No, but look!" he replied anxiously, pointing to a piece of paper in his hand. "We've already received orders from the Station. They've said to dispatch a team of investigators to Han Longwei's house soon!"
Su Yong gave him a wary look. "How many?"
"Two leads and five juniors."
"Sh*t. . . that means-"
There was a loud 'thud' and everyone turned to look. Apparently, Wang Zihao had arrived at the door.
"Zihao, Zihao! Have you heard?"
Zihao was swarmed the moment he stepped into his office building. He knew he was popular at work, but he disliked the attention. With his ready-to-go coffee in his hand, he pushed past the hoard to get to his small cubicle.
"Zihao, man!" called John. It was clear to almost everyone except John himself how much Zihao disliked him. "Did you hear the news this morning? It's crazy! Han Longwei found dead in his house! And so early in the morning, too! Isn't this exciting?"
Zihao sighed, but didn't reply. He knew if he engaged in John's attempt to initiate conversation, the man would never stop.
"Have you seen the pictures?" John chuckled, leaning over the thin cubicle wall that surrounded Zihao's table. "What a brute of a man. Good going on his last case, though. You remember, right? We found out that the homeless man was a drunk wife-killer. We even found his two children inside that large pipe of a home, all bruised and beat-up. Guess he did deserve to die. Zihao, what d'ya think?"
A muscle kicked in Zihao's jaw. He was getting annoyed now.
"I don't get it, though. The Devil, this man who continues killing random-a*s people. What does he have to earn from it? Do you get what I'm saying?" John asked, looking Zihao in the eye. "What's his motive?"
Zihao raised an eyebrow.
John waited. And waited. At a lack of response, he sighed. "You're no fun, man. I wouldn't wanna be found out at a party with you."
Zihao narrowed his eyes. "Likewise."
"I mean- Thirty nine murders! Is that number a joke to you?? And there's not even, like, a pattern in the victims; he just goes on a blind f*cking rampage and kills whoever he fancies."
Zihao's eyebrow hitched. He did not like when someone insulted his work.
But for the sake of not giving himself away, he rubbed a tired hand on his eyes and sighed.
"When are you getting lost?" he let out through gritted teeth.
John paused and gave him a good look. "Dude, are you okay?"
Ziaho looked up, confused. "What?"
"I mean-" John pointed at his face. "You look pale, like, super-pale. Are you feeling sick?"
Zihao choked back a groan. The wound in his stomach led electric shivers up his body and he could feel the blood soaking through the wrapped gauze. He knew he needed to get professional medical attention soon, but since his victim had been discovered only hours ago, he didn't want to take risks with the timing.
"I'm okay," he exhaled as he tried to keep a straight face.
"Are you sure?" John's eyes scanned the hand Zihao had pressed to his abdomen, and he laughed. "C'mon man, you don't need to be embarrassed about that! Everybody gets an upset stomach once in a while."
Zihao clenched his jaw. "I don't have an upset stomach," he hissed. "Now f*ck off before I make you."
"Jeez," Zihao heard him whisper as he retreated back to his cubicle. "Why's he gotta be so damn violent? I was just tryna talk..."
It was only after the office had quietened down a bit that he was able to relax. Zihao stared at his reflection in his work monitor, trying to ignore the pounding in his abdomen. He knew there was only a little more time before the blood started showing through the new jacket he had thrown on.
He glanced at the clock. 8 o'clock.
Sighing, he turned his focus back on the blank monitor. He'd have to deal with it for a while.
⧫.⧫.⧫.⧫.⧫
It was an ugly day.
Rain pelted down the window panes, and for a while, the pitter-patter was the only sound in the office.
"Arghhh!" came John's groan as soon as the clock struck 9:30. "I'm beat. Anybody wanna grab a coffee with me? Su Yong?"
"No," she replied without even looking at him. "Go grab an umbrella and head down by yourself. I'm sure the barista will be glad to see you."
He laughed. "That she will. What can I say? I'm just so damn good-looking."
When no one acknowledged John's good-lookingness, he groaned and swiveled around in his chair.
"Can you f*cking stop?" someone called from the other side of the office, "Your chair's making too much noise."
John was about to answer when his work phone rang. Everybody quietened down and watched him as he picked up the receiver and put it to his ears.
"Hello?"
There was a minute of silence as John listened. He nodded his head. Once, twice.
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," he muttered as he looked up at everyone, shrugging.
"What was that?" asked Su Young.
"Chief just called." John's tone was grave. "Apparently, the police station has assigned detectives to the Han Longwei case themselves."
There was a pause.
"Why did you stop?" Su Young hissed.
"For dramatic effect."
"Come on."
"Someone's gotta do it."
"Out with it, Lee!" someone else spat. "So who's on the list?"
"Mr Chang and Ms Ren are the leads assigned to the case. As for the juniors…it's gonna be me, Eu-Meh and um. . ." He looked towards the end of the office, where a dark shadow sat glaring. "And Zihao."
Every head in the room turned towards Zihao's cubicle.
Zihao, unbeknownst to it all, could not bear the pain at that moment and he flew out of his chair. Everyone stared as he practically ran out of the office.
As the door closed behind him, everyone exchanged confused glances.
Only John spoke.
"Damn," he muttered. "Dude's boutta be sh*tting bricks."