Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and mature themes that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
Munafiqoon—an Arabic term for hypocrites or "two-faced individuals"—refers to those who outwardly profess beliefs or values they do not sincerely uphold. Hypocrisy of this nature can have profound and far-reaching psychological effects, both on the hypocrites themselves and on those who interact with them. It stems often from jealousy, arrogance, or greed and results in a cascade of consequences that disrupt personal, relational, and societal dynamics.
For the hypocrite, such duplicity often leads to cognitive dissonance, a mental state characterised by the discomfort of holding contradictory beliefs or behaving incongruently with one's professed values. This internal conflict may foster self-deception, forcing the individual into a perpetual cycle of rationalising their actions to maintain a semblance of internal harmony. Emotional strain becomes inevitable, as living a lie exacts a toll on one's psyche, fracturing personal integrity.
For those on the receiving end of hypocrisy, the experience is marked by feelings of betrayal and disillusionment. The erosion of trust creates moral ambiguity, leaving individuals to question the sincerity of those around them. This can foster an atmosphere of scepticism, where sincerity and authenticity are perceived as rare commodities.
On a broader scale, hypocrisy poses a corrosive threat to societal cohesion. When hypocrisy becomes pervasive, it risks fostering a cultural environment where distrust and insincerity are not only tolerated but normalised. This gradual degradation of moral standards can undermine authentic values, rendering integrity an outlier rather than the norm. Such a shift weakens the moral fabric of communities, leading to widespread alienation and the fracturing of interpersonal relationships.
Ultimately, hypocrisy serves as a stark reminder of the vital importance of congruence between beliefs and actions. Living authentically cultivates probity—a steadfast adherence to strong moral principles—while fostering trust and mutual respect. An alignment between one's inner convictions and outward behaviour not only enhances personal integrity but also contributes to a healthier psychological and social environment, where sincerity and honesty remain pillars of communal life.
At 3:00 a.m. on Friday, 31st January, Nightshade City is veiled in an unsettling silence, pierced occasionally by the faint hum of drones patrolling its labyrinthine streets. The city, renowned for its intertwining alleys, towering skyscrapers, and neon-lit façades, rests under a canopy of midnight clouds, exuding an eerie stillness. A dense fog slithers through the streets, muting even the faintest sounds and distorting the dim, flickering glow of the city's sporadic lights.
The neon signs that once blazed with vivacity now sputter faintly, their malfunctioning bulbs casting distorted red and purple hues on the rain-slicked streets. The reflection on the wet pavement creates a surreal, otherworldly ambiance, as though the city itself teeters on the edge of reality. From the sewer grates, faint wisps of smoke curl upwards, forming ghostly trails that hang in the air like an ominous veil.
In the forsaken industrial zones, massive warehouses stand like stoic sentinels, their rusted doors creaking under the weight of decay. These relics of a bygone era are enshrouded in darkness, their cavernous interiors harbouring shadows that appear to shift and breathe with sinister intent. Few dare to traverse these desolate areas, for even the most hardened criminals avoid the spectre of Nightshade's underworld at this cursed hour.
Stragglers, cloaked in synthetic trench coats or wrapped in shadowy capes, cling to the edges of the dimly lit roads, their hurried steps betraying a sense of foreboding. Fleeting, cautious glances are exchanged, each passerby hyper-aware of the lurking threats that hide within the city's folds.
Above, SSCBF surveillance drones glide through the fog-laden skies, their soft hum mingling with the occasional whisper of wind. Their searchlights slice through the mist like the scythe of a reaper, illuminating fragmented glimpses of the deserted streets below. Equipped with advanced sensors, these drones are vigilant, scanning for any illicit activity—a necessity in a city where crime is a constant companion.
At the docks, silence reigns supreme. The wooden planks groan under the weight of the wind, stretching into a sea as black as ink. The water ripples faintly, reflecting the distant neon glow of the city in distorted fragments. The docks are deserted, but their air is charged with an almost palpable tension, whispering of clandestine exchanges and shadowy dealings long since concluded.
As time creeps forward, the atmosphere grows heavier. Anticipation lingers like a spectre, each second threatening the reveal of hidden dangers. For the rare few who dare to roam these streets, the darkness feels alive, a constant reminder that safety in Nightshade City is as fleeting as the light itself.
In a desolate basement, a young girl awakens in terror, her breathing ragged as her muffled screams are swallowed by the stifling darkness. Her mouth is gagged, and her limbs are tightly bound, rendering her immobile. She writhes in vain, her eyes darting around the pitch-black room. The faint sound of footsteps echoes ominously through the basement hallway, growing louder with each passing second. Her gaze locks on the heavy wooden steel door in front of her as it creaks open ever so slowly. From the shadows, a grotesque, demonic humanoid figure emerges, its sinister grin stretching unnaturally across its face. The girl's muffled screams reach a fever pitch, but they are drowned out by the gurgling sound of blood spilling across the cold concrete floor.
At 9:30 a.m. Wen-Li pulls up to the SSCBF headquarters on her sleek black motorcycle, the growl of its engine cutting through the morning bustle. She removes her helmet, her long silk-like hair cascading down her shoulders, catching the cool morning breeze. Despite her poised exterior, her eyes are shadowed with fatigue, and her normally sharp features are softened by the faint pallor of sleepless nights.
As she strides into the headquarters, the building hums with activity. Officers and staff move briskly through the halls, their focus unwavering as they tackle their duties. Upon seeing her enter, however, a wave of respect ripples through the space; conversations cease, and salutes are offered. Wen-Li nods politely in acknowledgment, offering a faint smile, though her exhaustion betrays her otherwise stoic demeanour.
Once inside her office, she sinks into her chair, her fingers brushing across the keyboard of her laptop as she immerses herself in work. Yet her mind remains clouded by a singular, nagging question—"Who among us is the hypocrite?" The words, spoken in a forewarning tone by Gonda, reverberate in her thoughts, casting a shadow over her every interaction.
At 9:55 a.m., Lan Qian burst into Chief Wen-Li's office, her breath quickened and voice trembling.
"Chief, we've received a report of a murder. The victim… it's one of the missing persons," she stammered, her tone laced with unease.
"Really? Who?" Wen-Li asked, her brow furrowing in puzzlement.
"A girl—16 years old. Her name is Didayemru Çeveciş. She was reported missing a year ago. They've found her remains at Silhouette Shores. Captain Robert and Lingaong Xuein, along with their teams, have already been dispatched to investigate."
Wen-Li's expression turned sombre. "Let's go," she declared, rising from her chair. But as she moved, a sudden wave of dizziness engulfed her. Her vision blurred, and before she could steady herself, her body crumpled to the floor.
Lan Qian gasped, her panic evident. "Chief!" she cried out, rushing to her side. Without hesitation, she called for help, her voice carrying through the halls, summoning staff to assist.
Under the spectral glow of the moon, Silhouette Shores was eerily desolate, its usual vibrancy extinguished by the pall of horror that now hung over it. The district's once lively streets now bore an air of abandonment, as though recoiling from the darkness that had invaded its shores.
Captain Robert and his team moved cautiously along the murky banks, their flashlights piercing through the dense shadows that clung stubbornly to the night. The faint lapping of water against the muddy shoreline added an unnerving cadence to their grim task.
Accompanying Robert were officers Lee Jong Suk and Tao Ren. Captain Lingaong Xuein had brought her seasoned crew: Koizumoto Daishoji, Demitin Koğlulanci, and Sakim Massersi. Their expressions were grim, reflecting the gravity of the atrocity they were there to investigate.
Their mission was to recover and piece together the remains of Didayemru Çeveciş, the young girl who had been missing for a year. Her scattered remains had surfaced along the muddy banks, a gruesome revelation that demanded answers.
"Spread out. Look for anything out of place," Robert commanded, his voice steady yet imbued with urgency.
As the team combed the area, Tao Ren's flashlight caught a gruesome sight—a severed arm entangled in a cluster of reeds. She inhaled sharply, the breath catching in her throat, and called out, "Over here!"
Hearing her, Sakim and Daishoji hurried to her location. Their faces hardened as the light revealed the ghastly discovery.
"I think this belongs to her," Tao said, her voice measured despite the visceral horror in front of her.
"Mark the area," instructed Lingaong, her tone clipped but professional. Demitin, armed with evidence markers, moved swiftly to tag the site.
Further along the bank, Lee Jong Suk and Sakim Massersi uncovered more fragments of the body—a torso partially submerged beneath debris and bloodstained earth. Nearby, Daishoji called out from a docked fishing boat.
"There's blood all over the deck here—a lot of it," he reported, his voice tinged with anger.
Robert approached, his flashlight scanning the gruesome scene. His jaw clenched as he surveyed the scattered remains and the faint blood trail leading back toward the shoreline.
"It's as if someone wanted to scatter her pieces on purpose," he muttered, his voice thick with restrained fury.
Lingaong Xuein crouched by the torso, her keen eyes analysing the injuries. "The throat—slashed deeply and deliberately. This wasn't just murder; it was precision work," she remarked coldly.
Demitin gestured toward the surrounding carnage. "Whoever did this wasn't just covering their tracks. They wanted to send a message—or instil fear."
Robert's fists tightened, his gaze unwavering. "We'll find them," he declared with quiet intensity. "Whoever did this… they'll pay."
Wen-Li awoke slowly, the sterile scent of antiseptic and the hum of fluorescent lights grounding her in her surroundings. Her head throbbed faintly as her vision adjusted to the clinical white walls around her. Beside her stood Anne, her loyal assistant, her expression a mixture of concern and relief.
"Chief, you're awake," Anne said softly, her voice trembling slightly as she leaned in to steady Wen-Li, who tried to sit up but was quickly overcome by dizziness.
"Take it slow," Anne urged, her hands firm but gentle as she eased her back down. "You gave us quite the scare."
Wen-Li blinked slowly, trying to piece together the events leading to her collapse. "Where's… Lan Qian?" she murmured, her voice weak but searching.
"She's on her way with Dr. Abrar," Anne assured her. "They'll be here shortly."
Wen-Li sighed, her fatigue palpable. Her mind, however, was far from rest. The memory of Gonda's cryptic warning resurfaced—"There's a hypocrite among you. Be vigilant." The words gnawed at her thoughts like a persistent shadow.
Her gaze drifted to the window, where rain cascaded in silvery sheets, blurring the world beyond. Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, a low growl of forewarning. Even as her body protested against movement, her resolve hardened.
"Whoever is behind this… whether it's a killer or a traitor... I'll find them. And they'll regret underestimating me."
Moments later, Lan Qian burst through the door of Wen-Li's office, her expression a blend of urgency and apprehension. "Chief Wen-Li! Are you okay? What happened?" Her voice trembled, betraying her usually composed demeanour.
Wen-Li opened her eyes slowly, attempting to sit up but finding her strength lacking. "I'm fine," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She forced a weak smile, though it failed to convince either Lan Qian or the others in the room.
Dr. Abrar arrived soon after, clipboard in hand, exuding calm professionalism. His gaze quickly assessed Wen-Li's pallor and the monitor displaying her vitals. "Chief Wen-Li," he began in a tone both firm and compassionate, "you've been pushing yourself too hard again, haven't you? This collapse is a direct result of severe fatigue, sleep deprivation, and inadequate nutrition. Your body is running on empty."
Wen-Li frowned, the weight of his words piercing through her usual resolve. "I have responsibilities…" she began, her voice faltering.
Dr. Abrar raised a hand to silence her, his tone unyielding. "Responsibilities mean nothing if you're too ill to carry them out. My professional recommendation is simple: rest. Go home. Recuperate. That's not a suggestion—it's an order."
Anne and Lan Qian exchanged glances of relief, though Wen-Li's face showed reluctance. "Resting doesn't solve problems," she murmured.
Lan Qian gently interjected, her tone soothing but firm. "It won't solve them, but it will give you the clarity to address them properly, Chief. Please, for everyone's sake, listen to Dr. Abrar this time."
After a long pause, Wen-Li exhaled a weary sigh. "Fine," she conceded, though her tone suggested she was far from happy about it. "But only for a day or two."
Anne smiled, the tension in the room easing slightly. Dr. Abrar nodded, satisfied but not entirely convinced. "We'll monitor your condition, Chief. But for now, rest is non-negotiable."
As Wen-Li leaned back against the pillow, her exhaustion taking hold, the door creaked open, revealing Robert and Lingaong Xuein. Their faces betrayed equal parts worry and determination.
"Wen-Li," Robert began, his voice steady yet tinged with concern. "How are you holding up?"
"You had us all worried," Lingaong Xuein added, her normally stoic expression softening.
Before Wen-Li could respond, Nightingale's commanding voice cut through the room like steel. "That's enough. Let her rest." Her piercing gaze silenced the room, and even Dr. Abrar seemed momentarily taken aback by her unwavering presence.
Wen-Li lifted a hand weakly. "Nightingale, it's alright. Let them stay—just Robert and Lingaong. The others can leave."
Reluctantly, Nightingale gave a curt nod, signalling the others to exit. Once the door shut behind them, Robert and Lingaong moved closer, their postures stiff and formal, the air thick with unspoken tension.
"We've gathered some information about the case," Robert began, his tone measured but edged with unease. "But there's something that doesn't sit right."
Wen-Li's sharp gaze snapped to him, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "What is it?"
Lingaong Xuein took over, her voice cautious. "We've been observing the team, as you instructed, but so far, no one has exhibited suspicious behaviour."
Wen-Li leaned back slightly, her fingers brushing her temple. Her voice dropped to a cold, deliberate tone. "That doesn't mean the hypocrite isn't among you. Appearances can deceive."
Her words hung in the air like an ominous warning, sending a chill through the room. Robert and Lingaong exchanged uneasy glances before Robert spoke again. "Chief, how can you be so certain the hypocrite was involved in Didayemru Çeveciş's murder?"
A faint, enigmatic smirk crossed Wen-Li's lips, but her eyes were unreadable. "I have my sources," she replied cryptically. "Your job is to unmask them before it's too late. If we fail, the repercussions for SSCBF will be catastrophic."
Robert pressed further, his voice laced with frustration. "Was it an informant? Did someone tip you off?"
Wen-Li's smirk vanished, replaced by an impenetrable mask. Ignoring his question, she dismissed them curtly. "Do as I've instructed. That's an order."
Understanding the conversation was over, Robert and Lingaong nodded and left the room, their footsteps echoing heavily in the corridor. Their shared silence spoke volumes about the gravity of their task.
As they walked through the dimly lit hallways, Lingaong Xuein finally broke the silence. "We have to identify the hypocrite before it's too late. If the Chief's suspicions are right…"
Robert's jaw tightened. "If she's right, it won't just be our careers on the line—it'll be the integrity of the entire SSCBF."
Their words echoed in the cold corridor, a grim reminder of the stakes they faced as the shadow of betrayal loomed over their every move.
Unbeknownst to Robert and Lingaong Xuein, their conversation about the hypocrite had not gone unnoticed. In the far reaches of the corridor, Lee Jong Suk lingered in the shadows, his face partially obscured by dim light. A chilling smile spread across his face as he listened intently, his eyes glinting with a malice that betrayed his calm exterior.
Meanwhile, on 1st February the gentle hum of a soft morning breeze filtered into Wen-Li's sparsely adorned bedroom through a slightly ajar window. The room bore an austere charm, its simplicity reflecting her disciplined nature. Yet today, the tranquillity was deceptive.
Lying on her bed, Wen-Li stared blankly at the ceiling. Her cropped shirt rode up slightly, while her hand rested limply on her stomach. Her sleepless eyes, rimmed with fatigue, mirrored the turmoil within her—a whirlpool of unresolved cases, looming threats, and an omnipresent sense of loneliness.
Her mind wandered to the echoes of her past, the wisdom of her parents, and the void left by their absence. The once-vibrant household now stood as a mausoleum to memories, its quietude amplifying her isolation.
Wen-Mi, her feline companion, padded gracefully into the room, her elegant steps exuding a regal confidence. With effortless agility, she leapt onto the bed, settling beside Wen-Li and purring softly, her amber eyes brimming with an almost human empathy.
A faint smile touched Wen-Li's lips as she reached out to stroke the cat's velvety fur. "At least I have you," she murmured, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "You always know when I need you, don't you?"
Wen-Mi nuzzled against her hand, her rhythmic purring a soothing balm to Wen-Li's frayed nerves.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, confiding in her loyal companion. "I wish life was simpler, Wen-Mi. The weight of everything—it's unbearable. The hypocrite, the cases, the danger... It's too much. And then..."
Her words faltered as an image surfaced in her mind—Agent-90. His piercing blue eyes, calculating yet enigmatic, haunted her thoughts. At first, she had dismissed him as a mere shadow, a man whose methods were as unorthodox as his motives. But now, she couldn't deny the effect he had on her—a mixture of intrigue and unease.
"I don't understand him," she admitted. "Why does he care about my parents' case? Is it guilt? Or is there more to him than I realise?"
Wen-Mi tilted her head, her curious gaze urging Wen-Li to continue.
"I don't know if I can trust him," Wen-Li confessed, her tone heavy with uncertainty. "But if he finds my parents' killer, does it mean he understands what I've lost?"
As her thoughts spiralled, Wen-Mi stretched lazily, climbing onto her stomach as though shielding her from her own despair. Wen-Li placed a gentle hand on the cat, finding solace in her warmth.
"No matter what, I'll uncover the truth," she vowed softly. "For my parents, for my team, and for myself."
The room fell silent, save for the soothing rhythm of Wen-Mi's purring and the faint rustling of the breeze.
In the dim, fluorescent glow of the surveillance room, Lan Qian worked tirelessly, her fingers dancing over the keyboard with precision. The task was daunting: combing through hours of CCTV footage to unravel the mystery of Didayemru Çeveciş, the missing girl whose tragic end had shocked the city.
Nightshade City's vast network of surveillance cameras covered nearly every corner of the sprawling metropolis, yet there were always gaps—dark corners where shadows thrived, and secrets festered.
Lan Qian's sharp eyes scanned each frame meticulously until something unusual caught her attention. The timestamp read 2:38 AM.
On the screen, Didayemru Çeveciş appeared, stepping into the misty streets from The Black Collar. The club, with its stark black-and-gold aesthetic, was a hub for the city's elite—a veneer of glamour concealing its sinister underbelly.
Lan Qian's expression hardened as she paused the footage, zooming in on the young girl. The streetlights cast an eerie glow over Didayemru's hurried figure, her coat clenched tightly around her.
The Black Collar, she thought grimly. Beneath its opulent façade lay a hidden basement—a grim theatre where human lives were auctioned off to the highest bidder. It was a den of corruption, frequented by the powerful and protected by the untouchable.
Lan Qian leaned back in her chair, her mind racing. This lead was critical, but it also placed her team in direct opposition to Nightshade City's most influential figures.
"This just got more dangerous," she murmured, determination hardening her features.
She saved the footage, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she prepared a detailed report for Chief Wen-Li. As the screen dimmed, the flickering image of Didayemru's last known movements seemed to linger, a haunting reminder of the darkness they were up against.
Lan Qian's resolve only deepened. The Black Collar would be the key to uncovering the truth—and she was ready to face whatever dangers lay ahead.
As Çeveciş stepped into the streets, the surveillance footage captured her brisk pace, her expression laden with unease. Her body language betrayed a heightened sense of vulnerability, as though she were acutely aware of a threat lurking nearby.
Lan Qian's sharp eyes scrutinised the footage, and then she spotted it—a man in a black hoodie, his face concealed in the shadows, emerged in the distance. His movements were deliberate, purposeful, as he closed the gap between himself and Çeveciş.
A chill crept over Lan Qian as she leaned closer to the screen. The man was following her.
Çeveciş's demeanour shifted visibly as she seemed to register the ominous presence behind her. Her pace quickened, her head turning slightly to steal nervous glances over her shoulder. The hooded figure mirrored her movements, closing in with a predatory precision. The footage was alive with tension, and Lan Qian could almost feel the palpable fear emanating from Çeveciş.
Her steps turned frantic as she hurried through the Duskwatch Ward, a notorious district known for its paradoxical blend of high surveillance and underground resistance activity. Security drones hovered, their mechanical hums slicing through the silence, but the presence of authority offered no sanctuary in this treacherous area.
The camera followed Çeveciş as she darted into a dimly lit alley, her movements now desperate. The man in the hoodie trailed her, his intent as unmistakable as the growing dread in Lan Qian's chest.
Then it happened.
The audio feed crackled ominously before a blood-curdling scream tore through the silence, a sound so visceral it made Lan Qian flinch. The haunting echo of Çeveciş's cry reverberated through the narrow alley, freezing the viewer in suspense.
Suddenly, the footage distorted—lines of static raced across the screen, the video feed stuttering before cutting out entirely. The abrupt blackness left Lan Qian staring at her reflection in the now-blank monitor, her fingers trembling above the mouse.
The room fell silent, the air thick with unease.
Grabbing the phone at her desk, Lan Qian dialled swiftly, her voice sharp and urgent. "Nightingale. Robert. Get to the control room immediately."
Moments later, Nightingale and Captain Robert entered, their postures tense, their expressions darkened by the gravity of the situation.
"What's happened?" Robert asked, his tone commanding yet tinged with concern.
Lan Qian gestured towards the screen, rewinding the footage. "Watch this," she said, her voice taut.
The room grew silent once more as the agents leaned in, their eyes locked on the playback. Lan Qian paused the footage just before the scream, her finger hovering above the mouse.
"Listen," she instructed, her tone almost a whisper.
The harrowing scream echoed again, slicing through the suffocating quiet of the control room. Nightingale's brows furrowed, her jaw tightening as she absorbed the gravity of what she was hearing.
"That scream…" Nightingale began, her voice steady but grim. "It's unmistakably Çeveciş. But the way the feed cuts out—it's deliberate."
Robert's expression darkened, his analytical mind already racing. "Someone didn't want us to see what happened next," he muttered, his voice low but resolute.
Lan Qian nodded, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "The glitch isn't consistent with natural interference," she explained. "This was a targeted disruption—someone tampered with the feed."
Robert crossed his arms, his gaze hardening. "Duskwatch Ward is crawling with surveillance. If someone's orchestrating this level of precision, they're either highly skilled or they've got inside help."
Nightingale added, her tone measured, "And whoever they are, they wanted Çeveciş silenced. Permanently."
Lan Qian leaned back in her chair, the screen now frozen on the last clear image of Çeveciş. "This isn't just a random act," she said, her voice filled with quiet determination. "This is part of something bigger. We need to uncover who's behind this—before they strike again."
Robert exchanged a glance with Nightingale. "If this is tied to Black Collar, we're dealing with an operation far beyond a single murder," he said gravely.
Nightingale nodded, her eyes narrowing. "Then we'll dig deeper into Black Collar. If they're hiding something—and they are—we'll find it."
The room fell into a contemplative silence, each agent consumed by the enormity of the task ahead. Outside, the city of Nightshade loomed, its shadowy streets concealing a truth that refused to stay hidden for long.
Lan Qian bit her lip, her gaze fixed on the screen. "Someone—or something—deliberately interrupted the feed. We must identify the man in the hoodie and uncover why he was following Çeveciş in the first place."
Robert folded his arms, his tone steady but edged with urgency. "Let's focus on the footage again and cross-reference it with any surrounding data. Understanding why Çeveciş was targeted is crucial."
Nightingale turned to Lan Qian, her expression pensive. "Do you think this was premeditated? Could someone inside The Black Collar have been complicit?"
Lan Qian's jaw tightened, her fingers poised over the keyboard. "It's a plausible theory. The timing, the location, the chase—it all seems too orchestrated to be random. But we won't know for certain unless we dig deeper into the data. Every angle needs to be examined."
After a tense pause, Lan Qian began navigating through the database with surgical precision, sifting through entries tied to the notorious club. She reviewed visitor logs, surveillance timestamps, transactions, and connections—seeking any thread that could unravel the truth. "There's always a trail," she murmured to herself, her determination unwavering. "And if Çeveciş was linked to The Black Collar, that trail will lead us directly to the people responsible."
Nightingale, standing behind her, studied the frozen image on the screen—the man in the hoodie and Çeveciş's panicked face. "This doesn't sit right," she muttered under her breath. "We'll need more intel—lots of it."
Robert leaned in, his expression unreadable but intense. "Start with the man in the hoodie. If he's part of a larger network, we need to uncover who's orchestrating this. Follow the breadcrumbs and don't stop until we find answers."
Lan Qian's fingers flew over the keyboard, her eyes scanning the glowing screen. Despite the haze of fatigue creeping over her, she refused to relent. The final moments of Çeveciş's life replayed in her mind—the scream, the shadowy figure, and the abrupt cut to black. Her resolve hardened, and she glanced at her colleagues.
"We'll find out who did this," she said quietly, her voice resolute. "And we'll make them answer for it."
Elsewhere in the bustling SSCBF headquarters, officers moved purposefully through the halls, their movements sharp and purposeful as they worked to unravel the tangled threads of Çeveciş's case. The air was heavy with determination, yet an undercurrent of unease lingered—the kind that came with chasing shadows in a city as labyrinthine as Nightshade.
In the brightly lit conference room, Captain Robert stood at the head of a long table, his tone firm and commanding. "Our immediate priority is The Black Collar. We need to uncover who lured Çeveciş there and what transpired that led to her untimely death."
The officers around the table exchanged grim nods, their focus unwavering. Just as Robert outlined his next strategy, the door swung open, and Captain Lingaong Xuein entered with brisk, purposeful strides.
"Robert," she began, her voice calm yet authoritative, "while your team investigates The Black Collar, my team will gather intelligence from Çeveciş's acquaintances. Someone in her social or professional circle may know why she was there that night—or what she was afraid of."
Robert regarded her for a moment, weighing the suggestion before nodding. "Agreed. Start with her workplace. What have we got on that?"
Lingaong Xuein glanced at the report in her hand, her voice measured as she replied, "She was employed at the Nightshade City Library. We've already compiled a list of her coworkers, supervisors, and anyone she might have been close to. I'll personally lead the effort to interview them and piece together her recent behaviour."
"Good." Robert nodded in approval. "Be thorough. We can't afford to miss even the smallest detail—every lead could be pivotal."
As the meeting concluded, the sense of urgency heightened. The SSCBF teams moved like a well-oiled machine, preparing to execute their respective missions. Yet, despite their professionalism, a shared unease permeated the room. Somewhere in the sprawling labyrinth of Nightshade City, a dark secret awaited them—one that promised to challenge everything they thought they knew.
The chase for answers had begun, but the cost of uncovering them remained to be seen.
"Understood," Xuein replied, her tone sharp and professional. She turned to her team, who had been waiting patiently in the hallway. Daishoji, Demitin, and Sakim stepped inside, ready to receive their instructions.
"We're heading to the library," Xuein informed them crisply. "I want you to divide the contacts. Sakim, you will handle the supervisors. Daishoji, focus on the coworkers. Demitin, I need you to concentrate on her close friends. I'll be coordinating with all of you and will follow up on anything significant."
"Yes, ma'am," her team replied in unison, their determination evident in their voices.
Nightingale, who had been silently observing the exchange, stepped forward. "If you uncover anything that ties back to The Black Collar, inform us immediately. This connection might be deeper than we initially realised."
"Will do," Xuein assured her, casting a glance back at Robert. "Good luck with your part of the investigation."
"You too," Robert replied, a moment of mutual respect passing between them.
As Xuein and her team made their way towards the library, Robert turned back to his own group. "Let's get moving. If The Black Collar is what we suspect, we'll need every second we can muster to expose its secrets."
The teams parted ways, their paths diverging yet unified by the same relentless goal: to uncover the truth behind Didayemru Çeveciş's tragic end.
Robert noticed that Lee Jong Suk was absent from the headquarters. A flicker of curiosity crossed his mind. "Where could he be?"
Wen-Li lay stretched out on her couch, a book resting in one hand while the other absentmindedly stroked her cat, Wen-Mi, who purred contentedly on her lap. The exhaustion from work had finally caught up with her, and she had intended to spend the day recuperating.
A sudden knock on the door shattered the tranquility. Wen-Li frowned and glanced at the clock on the wall—it read precisely 12:00 PM. "Who could that be at this hour?" she muttered, reluctantly rising from her seat. Wen-Mi leapt off her lap with a curious meow.
When Wen-Li opened the door, she found her ever-cheerful neighbour, Irmin Küçükoldan, standing there with an apologetic smile. Beside her stood her two young children—a boy and a girl—each clutching toys and gazing up at Wen-Li with wide, inquisitive eyes.
"Wen-Li, I'm terribly sorry to trouble you," Irmin began earnestly. "But I need a favour. My husband and I have finally managed to arrange a date night—our first in months—and we have no one to watch the children."
Wen-Li's eyes widened in surprise. "Irmin, I… I'm not sure I can. I've never looked after children, and with my work—"
"Please," Irmin implored, clasping her hands together. "It's only for a few hours. You just need to keep them occupied—they're remarkably well-behaved. I wouldn't ask unless I had no other choice."
Wen-Li hesitated, her gaze shifting to the two children, who were now captivated by Wen-Mi's playful antics. Irmin gave her the most beseeching look she could muster.
Finally, Wen-Li exhaled in resignation. "Alright, but only for tonight."
"Thank you, thank you so much!" Irmin exclaimed, enveloping Wen-Li in a quick hug. "I'll return around 10 PM to collect them." With that, she kissed her children goodbye and hurried off, leaving Wen-Li with two wide-eyed youngsters staring up at her expectantly.
Wen-Li crouched down, offering a tentative smile. "Alright, you two. What do you enjoy doing?"
The boy's face lit up. "Can we play with the kitty?"
Wen-Li chuckled softly and led them inside. "Of course. Just don't frighten her."
Meanwhile, Captain Robert and his team, including Tao Ren and Nightingale, arrived at the notorious Black Collar club. The building's opulent black-and-gold façade gleamed beneath the midday sun, its grandeur concealing the sinister secrets often whispered about it.
Inside, the atmosphere was eerily subdued for the day—a stark contrast to the frenetic energy it usually hosted at night. Robert's team dispersed, interviewing staff and scrutinising every inch of the establishment.
When Robert interrogated the manager—a sharply dressed man with a practised smile—the man adamantly maintained the club's innocence. "We've operated a legitimate business for years. Whatever befell Didayemru Çeveciş beyond our premises isn't connected to us."
Robert's expression remained unyielding, his gaze piercing. "Legitimate? Then perhaps you'd care to explain why she was last seen leaving this establishment shortly before her disappearance. What precisely goes on in the basement?"
The manager hesitated, a bead of sweat forming at his temple. "I… I don't know what you're implying."
Robert leaned in, his voice low and menacing. "I suggest you begin cooperating—lest we shut this place down permanently."
At the same time, Lingaong Xuein and her team—Daishoji, Demitin, and Sakim—were visiting the Nightshade City Library, where Çeveciş had once worked. They spoke to her former colleagues and friends, displaying a surveillance image of the hooded figure who had followed her.
"No, I don't recognise him," said Minseo, one of Çeveciş's closest friends—a quiet girl with a sombre expression—as she shook her head. "Çeveciş never mentioned anyone like that. She mostly kept to herself."
"She always seemed a bit... fearful," added another coworker, their eyes reflecting concern. "It was as if she was hiding from something or someone. But she never confided in anyone."
Lingaong Xuein exchanged meaningful glances with her team. "We'll need to dig deeper into her personal affairs," she muttered under her breath. "Someone out there must know more."
As they departed, Xuein felt the gravity of the case weighing heavily on her shoulders. The hooded figure was their sole lead, yet he continued to be as elusive as a ghost.
Elsewhere, in a dimly lit basement, the nauseating grind of a saw tearing through flesh reverberated through the stale air. Lee Jong Suk, his face devoid of emotion but tinged with an unsettling smirk, methodically dismembered the lifeless form in front of him. Blood splattered across his clothes and smeared his face, dripping onto the cold concrete floor in a grotesque symphony of chaos.
When the grisly task was complete, Jong Suk stepped back, wiping his bloodied hands on his trousers. He turned to a cracked mirror on the wall, staring at his reflection with a twisted, macabre smile. His eyes glimmered with a blend of madness and satisfaction. "No remorse," he muttered to himself, tilting his head. "Only justice—my justice."
He adjusted the black hood of his sweatshirt, pulling it over his blood-soaked hair. His next target burned vividly in his mind: Chief Wen-Li.
Unaware of the impending danger, Wen-Li hummed softly as she prepared snacks in the kitchen. The aroma of freshly baked goods wafted through the air, contrasting sharply with the thunderstorm that had begun to rage outside. In the living room, the children, alongside Wen-Mi the cat, giggled at a cartoon flickering on the television screen.
"Children, snacks are ready!" Wen-Li called, carrying a tray to the dining table. The children scampered over eagerly, their laughter brightening the room as they reached for the treats.
A sudden crash of shattering glass erupted from the rear of the house, causing the children to freeze, their faces turning pale with fear. At that moment, the power cut out, leaving the house bathed in the eerie glow of the television.
With her senses on high alert, Wen-Li quickly shepherded the children towards the stairs. "Go upstairs. Lock the door and don't come out unless I call for you, no matter what you hear," she instructed, her voice firm yet calm.
The children obeyed, scrambling up the stairs while Wen-Li moved towards a kitchen drawer. She retrieved her service pistol, its cold metal a reassuring weight in her hand. She proceeded cautiously towards the drawing room, every creak of the floorboards echoing like a gunshot in the silence.
Suddenly, a hand clamped over her mouth, and a damp cloth pressed tightly against her nose. The strong, acrid scent of chemicals invaded her senses, causing her to struggle. Her vision blurred, and her limbs weakened as she succumbed to unconsciousness. Before darkness enveloped her, she glimpsed the faint outline of a hooded figure.
Robert gripped the steering wheel tightly, his expression tense and pensive. Something about the case had been gnawing at him all day. The unexplained absence of Lee Jong Suk had only deepened his suspicions, especially given the recent unsettling events. As the pieces began to slot together in his mind, realisation dawned.
"Could he be the hypocrite?" Robert murmured, pressing down harder on the accelerator.
Wen-Li awoke gradually, her head pounding and her limbs aching. The dim flicker of a sputtering light bulb drew her attention. Groaning, she tried to move but felt the sharp bite of chains restraining her wrists above her head. Her body was exposed and vulnerable, her top missing, leaving her bare midriff to the cold, unfeeling air.
A gag muffled her cries of frustration as she scanned her surroundings. Footsteps—measured and deliberate—approached from the darkness. Her heart thundered in her chest as a door creaked open, revealing a shadowy figure. The man stepped into the dim light, lowering his hood to reveal his face.
It was Lee Jong Suk.
A sinister smile curled his lips as he drew closer. "You look surprised, Chief," he sneered, his voice mocking and cruel.
Wen-Li's muffled screams echoed in the room. Summoning her courage, she glared at him with fire in her eyes. Through the gag, she managed to speak, her voice shaking with both fury and fear. "Why are you doing this? Was it you? Did you murder Çeveciş?"
Jong Suk chuckled darkly, his smile widening with twisted pleasure. "Yes," he confessed with chilling nonchalance. He crouched down, his face mere inches from hers. "And now, it's your turn."
In her dark, opulent office, Madam Di-Xian's sharp eyes were fixed on her phone. An informant had just relayed the shocking truth of Lee Jong Suk's true identity. Her grip on the device tightened as she dialled a secure line.
"Agent-90," she said with a frigid urgency, "Wen-Li has been taken. The perpetrator isn't Lee Jong Suk—it's Munafiq, the serial killer who assumes the identities of his victims. Jong Suk is already dead. Get to her before it's too late."
There was a moment of silence before Agent-90's low, gravelly voice came through. "Understood." The line disconnected.
Agent-90 stood still, his jaw clenched and his typically impassive demeanour replaced with raw, seething rage. The image of Wen-Li in peril burned in his mind, fuelling his determination. "Munafiq," he growled, his voice like a storm. "You will regret this."
He armed himself swiftly, every movement precise and filled with deadly intent.
Meanwhile, Robert, Lingaong Xuein, and their teams sped through the rain-slick streets of Nightshade City, their sirens eerily silent. The revelation that Jong Suk had, in fact, been Munafiq—a notorious and elusive killer—shook them to their cores.
Robert's grip on the wheel tightened. "This monster has been hiding in plain sight."
Lingaong Xuein's expression was grim. "If we fail to reach her in time..." Her voice cracked but she steeled herself, determination burning in her eyes.
The tyres screeched as their vehicles sped towards Jong Suk's apartment, their resolve unbreakable and their mission clear: to stop Munafiq, no matter the cost.
In the dimly lit room, Wen-Li lay chained, her body trembling with a blend of pain and fury. Munafiq, now fully revealed in his true and malevolent form, loomed over her, a devilish smile spreading across his face.
"Lee Jong Suk is already dead," he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery and disdain. "The man you believed you knew? He's long gone. I killed him a year ago. Since then, I have worn his life as a mask. And now, Chief Wen-Li, I'll savour the moment of ending you as well."
Through tears of searing agony, Wen-Li glared at him, her defiance unbroken despite her fragile state. "You won't get away with this," she hissed, each word seething with resolve.
Munafiq laughed, a harsh and grating sound, as he picked up a container of sulphuric acid. "Oh, but I already have." He tilted the container, allowing the corrosive liquid to drip onto her exposed abdomen. The acid sizzled as it ate into her skin, and Wen-Li's scream pierced the air, mingling with her rage and despair.
Grinning with sadistic pleasure, he reached for a scalpel, running its cold edge along the side of her belly. "Scream for me," he taunted, savouring every moment of her suffering.
A sudden loud thud reverberated through the room, shattering Munafiq's perverse enjoyment. He froze, his eyes snapping towards the source of the sound. "Who's there?" he barked, his grip on the blade tightening, betraying a hint of apprehension.
In an instant, the light was extinguished, plunging the room into suffocating darkness. Munafiq's breath quickened, the confident smirk slipping from his lips. "Show yourself!" he shouted, his voice laced with fear.
From the shadows emerged a demonic figure, its eyes gleaming with an unnatural glow—white irises encircled by pitch-black sclera. The figure's lips curled into a chilling smile, a grotesque mimicry that sent a cold shiver down Munafiq's spine.
"No," he whispered, his voice fracturing with terror. "Stay away from me!"
A blur of motion followed, swift and merciless, accompanied by the sickening sound of flesh being rent asunder. Munafiq's screams erupted, raw and primal, echoing off the walls. Blood sprayed across the surfaces, and the grotesque symphony of carnage reverberated through the air.
As the horrific sounds ebbed, Wen-Li's vision began to blur, consciousness slipping from her grasp. The last sight she registered was the shadowy figure turning towards her, its white-irised eyes boring into her very soul.
Then, she surrendered to the darkness.