The words hung in the air like a cloud, dense and foreboding. "I... want to die." The raw emotional weight of the utterance almost seemed to thicken the atmosphere, making it difficult to breathe. A suicide note—this was far more than they'd bargained for. Reid and Archer exchanged a glance, a kaleidoscope of emotions flickering between them in that brief moment.
But the mystery deepened. Why would someone go to such elaborate lengths to encode a suicide note in a rewired communicator? It didn't add up, and the discord between the message's content and its bizarre method of delivery sent a shiver down Reid's spine.
And then the recording took an even stranger turn, the speaker's voice shifting into Mandarin, the phrases distinctly poetic yet undeniably ominous: "One day, they will face the judgment of fate. Animals of lesser sins will bow their heads in repentance, while those burdened with greater sins will be pierced by a blade, their blood staining the roses. Every animal believes they are innocent, but every animal is guilty."
The poetic morbidity of the words, juxtaposed against the disarming normality of Ellen's workshop filled with its technological marvels, created a surreal dissonance that left him deeply unsettled.
Without missing a beat, Ellen piped up, "I ran some diagnostics after I heard the note. The voice belongs to someone named Michelle Lim."
The name acted like a defibrillator to Reid's senses, shocking him back into a state of purposeful urgency. There was no time to lose. He fished his phone from his pocket and made a hurried call to a contact in the law enforcement department. Swift keystrokes and muttered confirmations later, he had set the wheels in motion to retrieve all available information on Michelle Lim.
"Thanks, Ellen. You have no idea how important this might be," Reid said, his voice tinged with a gravitas that echoed the seriousness of their discovery.
"Yeah, whatever this is, it's heavy. Make sure you figure it out," Ellen responded, her usual irreverent tone subdued, replaced by genuine concern.
Reid offered a nod and then he and Archer made for the exit. Their strides were purposeful, fueled by a newfound urgency. As the door closed behind them, Ellen had frowned deeper - who was Michelle Lim and what made her suicide so secretive?
They both knew that every second counted. Somewhere out there, Michelle Lim—a name, a voice, a cry for help woven into a digital tapestry of sound—awaited them, her fate hanging in a precarious balance.
As they made their way to their law enforcement connection, Reid couldn't shake the bone-deep chill that had settled in. The message wasn't just a suicide note; it was a riddle sealed with desperation. It was a cry from the depths, reverberating through the conduits of technology, resonating in the chambers of the soul.
Could they save her?
As they settled into the car, Archer asked the one question that was weighing on his mind, "what is the relationship between the mysterious man and Michelle Lim?"
Reid knew the answer. Or perhaps, he guessed. He reckoned that Archer would have guessed too.
"Kirby didn't managed to get a clear look on his face."
"If that was his real face."
Reid nodded darkly, "he could be equipped with artifices to change his outward appearances. However, these appearance-changing artifices cannot rewrite the laws of science."
Archer agreed, "which is where you come in."
Reid grinned, "criminal profiling - my expertise."
***
The moment they stepped into the sterile precinct, the law enforcer, with his buzzcut and no-nonsense demeanor, caught sight of Reid and immediately perked up. His eyes shifted to Archer, a dash of curiosity mixed with suspicion cutting through the professional facade.
"Archer's a childhood buddy," Reid quickly filled in, aiming to dissolve the tension. "Made a boatload in business, so he's tagging along to find new ways to lose his money."
The law enforcer chuckled, a brief, mirthful ripple that seemed strangely incongruous against the backdrop of cork boards festooned with mugshots and unsolved case files. "Well, it's good to have goals," he quipped before handing over a sheaf of papers neatly clipped together and a well-worn, dog-eared book.
"Got everything you need right here," he continued, his voice dropping a notch, as if entering dangerous territory. "Autopsy results for Michelle Lim are also in that stack."
The words slammed into Reid and Archer like a freight train. The ambient sounds of the precinct—the distant chatter, the buzz of printers, the staccato click of keys on a keyboard—all seemed to fade into an eerie silence. They had been too late; Michelle Lim was already gone.
The autopsy report wasn't just a clinical rundown of biological failings. It was the epilogue of a life, a chronicle of its abrupt cessation. Psychological scars ran deep where Michelle Lim had cut herself and took in more sleeping pills than required. However, the cause of death blared from the pages, each term a stark testament to the physiological cascade of despair that had led Michelle to her untimely end.
Michelle's autopsy photos were attached and the main cause of death was asphyxiation. There was a long white cloth that was found on site but the forensic doctor had documented that the wound on the neck was deepest on the front, near where the larynx was. A second wound could be seen on the bottom of the jaw but this was much lighter. Bruises blotted around the first wound while the second wound was one sharp thin line.
This wasn't suicide.
Reid clenched his jaw, his fists tightening involuntarily. Archer sensed the change; he felt the air grow heavy with the metaphysical weight of regret and missed opportunities. The quantum-level shifts in Reid's emotional state were palpable, an unspoken current of turmoil that altered the vibrational frequencies around them.
For a moment, Archer thought Reid was going to lose it. Then he felt the subtle, almost imperceptible shift in temperature around them, his own Ability responding unconsciously to the emotional volatility of the situation. It was as if the surrounding molecules had decided to hunker down, their kinetic energy sapped, making the air crisp and brittle.
Catching himself just in time, Archer willed the temperature back to normal, drawing the thermal energy back into equilibrium through sheer force of will, his Ability retracting like a reined-in horse. He shot Reid an apologetic look, but Reid waved it off; no words were needed.
"Thanks," Reid finally spoke directing it to the law enforcer, his voice a gravelly whisper, steeped in an emotional cocktail of anger, regret, and resolve. "Have they found the suspects?"
The law enforcer nodded gravelly and pointed to the document where three portraits were present.
"We have investigated. There was no evidence that a second person had been present at the time of death. And well… you know how the department is."
Reid sighed deeply, "yea. They tended to sweep things under the rug. I'm surprised that they even called in these people for investigation."
The law enforcer shrugged, "the new forensic doctor was thorough. She wouldn't let it go when she discovered it was murder."
"But she still allowed this case to close as unsolved?" Archer raised an eyebrow.
The law enforcer glanced at Archer and checked him out a little before replying, "you know how it is. She doesn't have enough power. It was a great feat that she even managed to get the heads to bring in the suspects."
Reid smiled slightly, "that's why you have me. A freelance detective to take in some of your unsolved cases."
The law enforcer chuckled, "indeed. I have to say… I wouldn't be in this position if you weren't giving me all the credit."
Reid laughed a little, "I just love solving these mysteries anyway."
He then proceeded pocketed the documents and nodded at the law enforcer, who could sense that whatever jocularity had existed was now firmly squelched under the gravity of newfound realities.
If Michelle Lim's message had been a riddle, then the animals she was referring to were probably the suspects. Somehow, Reid didn't believe there were only three of them. Some sixth intuition pushed him to believe there were at least five.
Reid and Archer left the precinct, their steps echoing the solemn cadence of a dirge. Archer's fingers ghosted over Reid's and Reid turned to look at the other man in the eyes.
"Let's track them down."
***
Reid and Archer found themselves tailing a man through the city's streets. He wasn't exactly hard to spot: dressed in a crisp, tailored suit that belied a disheveled charm, the guy seemed to be pulling off the corporate anarchist look. Wavy auburn hair framed a face chiseled with confidence. He had the kind of eyes you'd expect to see on a charismatic leader, and a smile that was nothing short of disarming. This man is Carson Ren.
Upon digging into Michelle's literary past—turns out she was an author—Reid discovered she had dedicated one of her books to six animals, the one that the law enforcer had handed him: rat, wolf, snake, capybara, crow, and jellyfish. It seemed more than metaphorical; it felt like coded breadcrumbs. And if Reid's hunch was right, Carson was the rat in Michelle's narrative.
Rats are social animals, intelligent and keenly aware of their surroundings. They form structured societies, replete with leaders and followers, insiders and outcasts. As if reflecting this animalistic archetype, Carson wove through the crowd with a sociable flair, smiling and nodding at passersby, even exchanging the occasional pleasantry.
Reid had done his homework; a quick dive into the government database revealed Carson's Ability was 'Corrosion.' It wasn't actual corrosion. What Carson could do was accelerate the oxidation process of materials, essentially heating them up so rapidly that they corrode almost instantly.
Reid's eyes narrowed as Carson, with a swift, almost casual motion, kicked a Stray that had wandered too close to him. It was a revealing act, a glimpse into the abyss of his moral landscape. But rats have their darker sides too, reflecting a societal structure where those at the top often have little regard for the ones at the bottom. Almost immediately, Carson had turned and smiled to another passer-by, flashing his teeth.
Archer saw it too and felt the internal temperature gauge of his own Ability waver, a spike of cold mirroring his spike of disgust. But he reined it in. Now wasn't the time for emotional thermodynamics to run amok; they needed focus.
As they continued to trail Carson, Reid pondered the implications of this man's Ability. Corrosion, at its core, is a process of entropy, of chaotic disintegration. In essence, corrosion was a Janus-faced phenomenon, a destructive force that could also be harnessed for constructive ends. This meant that its Limit would be limiting too. The Government had classified his Ability as Good, which meant it had manifested as a Good Ability. That doesn't mean he had not improved on it and evolved its class in these 20 years after he received the Blessing at twelve.
"If his Ability works on the applying heat, then his Limit would be heat related as well."
Reid looked at Archer and pondered on his words, "ah." A lightbulb rang in his head. Another glance at Archer made Reid realise that Archer might have reached that conclusion already.
Carson's Limit might possibly be related to his own heat regulation. That would explain the warmth the man seemed to had when he walked and the thin layer of clothes he was wearing.
Reid felt a surge of dopamine, the neurotransmitter associated with pleasure and reward, but also with motivation and focus. His neurons fired in synchronized bursts, his brain engaging in a sort of neurochemical ballet as it processed information, weighed probabilities, and charted a course of action.
And so, as Carson's silhouette melted into the encroaching twilight, Reid felt a mix of dread and anticipation. He couldn't shake off the feeling that they were venturing into uncharted territory, into a realm where the fundamental laws of morality and science were fluid, malleable, and disturbingly open to interpretation. But they were committed now, propelled forward by the inertia of their choices, by the inescapable physics of cause and effect.
Reid and Archer locked eyes, each registering a silent understanding that buzzed through the air like a clandestine radio frequency. With a nod, Archer vanished. It was all part of the plan; Reid would take point while Archer would provide backup, unseen but very much present.
That had always been the case. Reid felt relieved that Archer was back.
Navigating the dim corridor, Reid was almost certain that Carson knew he was being followed. Carson's strides were becoming slower and more controlled, as if emitting a low-frequency hum, the heel-to-toe cadence sending seismic vibrations through the narrow walls like a human sonar.
And just as Reid anticipated, Carson wheeled around abruptly, materializing a knife from seemingly nowhere and slashing it through the air with the speed of a diving falcon. Reid dodged—thanks in part to his own honed reflexes and keen spatial awareness. But instead of retreating, Reid lunged forward, delivering a well-placed kick aimed right at Carson's midsection.
Carson, however, had his own tricks up his tailored sleeves. Activating his Ability, 'Corrosion,' the atmosphere between them seemed to thicken, as if charged by some unseen electrochemical force. Carson was not a trained man, Reid could tell. Carson was punching wildly at Reid. Reid was trained so he could easily dodge. However, it was cold and Reid's coat would be subjected to the laws of physics no matter how fast Reid was.
Even though Reid dodged the punches and kicks easily, his coat could not. Wherever Carson's hand made contact with Reid's coat, the fabric darkened instantly—a telltale sign of accelerated oxidation, like rust forming in fast-forward.
Wanting to save his coat a little, Reid decided to end the fight prematurely. Reid decided to flip the script as he stepped to the right, leaving Carson's fist to meet air. His foot then met Carson's solar plexus with the precision of a well-aimed projectile. The kick was well-aimed and controlled, the force disrupting the flow of oxygen to Carson's lungs and effectively winding him.
Doubling over, Carson spat out words like shards of glass. "What the hell do you want? If this is about Michelle Lim, I had nothing to do with her death."
Reid's eyes narrowed further, peering at Carson.