"After the two of us were filled in on what happened and read the reports, we went straight to Captain Howard's office," Malvin began, his voice taking on a distant, reflective tone. "And... well, the Captain didn't look all that well. That was the first time we saw him so... defeated? Resigned?" He paused, searching for the right word. "Whatever it was, it wasn't great..."
---
Captain Howard stood in stark contrast to his office, which remained as immaculate as ever—every book perfectly aligned on the shelves, every document stacked neatly on his desk. The room radiated order, yet the man at its center did not. His usually pristine appearance was off just enough to be noticeable. His hair, usually combed to perfection, was slightly tousled. His uniform, though still buttoned, looked as if it had been thrown on hastily. And then there were his eyes—distant, unfocused, as though he were looking at something only he could see.
Malvin and Silas exchanged uneasy glances. They had never seen him like this. Silas was the first to break the silence, his voice strained but resolute. "Sir, after what Officers Lucas and Laura reported, it's all but confirmed. It's Philip Crude. Now you have to start the investigation in the slums."
His words hung heavy in the air, but Captain Howard didn't respond right away. Instead, he sat in his chair, tapping his finger against his temple in a slow, rhythmic motion, his gaze still unfocused. "It should be him," he muttered to himself. "But just how is it possible for him to do that?"
"Sir, with all due respect, that doesn't matter right now," Malvin interjected, his voice firm. "We know who did it, and we need to put a stop to these murders."
The tapping stopped. Slowly, Captain Howard turned his head to face Malvin. His expression was unreadable at first, but there was a spark of something volatile behind his eyes. "Doesn't matter?" he said, his voice quiet but carrying a sharp edge. He pushed himself up from his chair with deliberate slowness, his movements controlled but tense. "You think it doesn't matter?"
The air in the room seemed to thicken. Both officers stiffened as the Captain's voice began to rise. "How can you say it doesn't matter?!" His fist came down hard on the desk, the impact reverberating through the room. "Do you think I can just send my officers to hunt him down after learning what he's capable of? Do you think I can risk their lives to fight against something we don't understand?"
Silas flinched but tried to respond, his words hurried and desperate. "But—but he'll keep killing people if we don't stop him! How can we just—"
"How can we just?" Captain Howard cut him off, his voice booming. "How can we just send people blindly into the slums—the place where scum like him thrive—without knowing what he can do?" He turned his fiery gaze to Silas. "Tell me, Officer Silas. Tell me how I send them in there, unprepared, to face that monster. And you, Officer Malvin," he added, his voice dripping with anger as he turned to the other man, "tell me how it doesn't matter that we don't know how he did what he did!"
Both officers stood silent, their gazes fixed on the floor. Malvin's usual sharp tongue failed him, and even Silas, who was often the first to speak up, couldn't find the words to respond. The Captain's heavy breathing filled the room as the anger seemed to drain out of him. Slowly, he raised a hand to his temple, rubbing it as though trying to massage away the pressure building in his head. His other hand dragged down his face, and he collapsed back into his chair.
"It's just... not as simple as you two think," he said at last, his voice quiet and laden with exhaustion. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and covering his eyes with one hand. For a moment, he seemed more defeated than either officer had ever seen him, the weight of the situation pressing down on his shoulders like an invisible burden.
---
"It honestly felt so hopeless in that moment," Malvin admitted, his tone heavy with lingering frustration. The weight of the past seemed to settle on his shoulders as he spoke. "No matter what we did, it felt like we were guaranteeing officers' deaths. If we sent people into the slums after him, they'd die. If we waited, beefed up security, maybe armed the Guard more? With Philip Crude's strength, none of that would've mattered. People would still die. It was... just the worst." Malvin exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as the tension from that time crept back into his voice. "But then, a person I usually can't stand showed up—and, somehow, managed to shine a bit of hope into the situation..."
---
The oppressive silence in Captain Howard's office was broken by an familiar and all-too-arrogant voice.
"My, what a dreary atmosphere," the voice drawled, smooth and sharp like polished glass.
All three men turned toward the source of the interruption. There, framed by the open door, stood a man exuding a confidence that bordered on arrogance. His gaze swept across the room like he was surveying a battlefield he already planned to win.
"Two gruesome murders, and the station full of the city's supposed protectors turns into... this?" He gestured vaguely with a tanned hand, as though the tension in the room itself offended him. His honey-colored eyes flicked to each of them in turn, glinting with a peculiar mix of sharpness and mischief. "But fret not," he declared, his voice rising with a theatrical edge as he placed that same hand against his chest, "for I will be taking charge of this case from now on."
Deputy Chief of the Ironguard—Edward Zahar had officially entered the scene!