Formation of the Group ∞
Detective Ernest sat back in his chair, his eyes scanning the haunting array of photographs pinned to the board in front of him. Each picture told a grim tale: different victims, the same gruesome fate. Decapitations. The crime scenes were eerily similar, yet devoid of any tangible evidence.
He let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through what little hair was left on top of his balding head. "Months," he muttered. "Months chasing shadows, still nothing."
The office was littered with paperwork, and the air hung heavy with old coffee and disappointment. Case file stacks lay open across his desk, each case more baffling than the next. His gut told him it was there-some pattern that connected the killings-but the pieces refused to connect.
The only thing connecting these atrocities was the symbol left at each scene—an infinity sign carved into the ground near the victims. Was it a signature? A taunt?
His reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Detective Ernest," a voice called out. "The Captain wants to see you. It's urgent."
He heaved another sigh, grabbing his jacket. Walking by the board, he couldn't help but notice the infinity drawn in red marker. There was something there that just wouldn't let go of him—a secret yet to be unraveled.
Detective Ernest entered the captain's office, the heavy door thudding shut behind him. The air inside felt tense, heavy with unuttered frustrations.
Close the blinds," he ordered, without lifting his eyes from the thick folder in his hands.
Ernest raised an eyebrow, but closed the blinds down, bathing the room in muted shadows. Whatever this was, it wasn't a casual meeting.
Finally, the captain looked up, his exhausted eyes meeting Ernest's. "Several investigative bodies have abandoned this case," he said flatly, his voice tinged with both anger and defeat. He pushed the folder across the desk toward Ernest.
"What?" Ernest's voice rose slightly. "But we're on the verge—there's a pattern here. I know it!"
The captain's fist hit the desk, cutting him off. "On the verge of what, Ernest? Another corpse? Another blank lead? It's been months, and we're no closer to an answer than we were at the start."
Ernest clenched his jaw, the weight of the captain's words sinking in.
The captain slumped back in his chair, taking a sharp breath. "The bigwigs feel it's a waste of manpower. They are pulling us off it. As of now."
Ernest was already frustrated. "You can't just let this slide! Those people deserve justice—"
"That's enough," the captain cut him off sharply, his tone not leaving much room for debate. He snatched another file off the desk and pushed it to Ernest. "This is your new case. Take care of it.
Ernest's eyes dropped to the file. His heart sank within him. A slap in the face, of course. Routine investigation at the time when he knew he was close to something far bigger.
Reaching for the file, his voice was like a hesitant softening as Captain spoke. "For what it's worth. I believe you. But this case. it's above us, Ernest. Above me. Someone out there doesn't want us digging too deep.
Ernest looked up, surprised. The captain rarely spoke in riddles, but the implication was clear: someone was pulling strings.
"Don't let this one get to you," the captain said. "There's more at play here than we understand. Now go.
Detective Ernest sat at his desk, staring at the new case file. He opened it, flipping through the pages with little enthusiasm. The details of the case were far from ordinary—missing persons with eerily similar circumstances. It piqued his interest, though the ache of being pulled from the decapitation case still lingered.
Hours passed, and as Ernest delved deeper into the new case, his initial disinterest shifted. The strange patterns, the unusual locations—it all felt connected to something bigger. His gut told him he couldn't let this slip through his fingers.
The next morning, Ernest stormed into the captain's office, holding the file tightly. "Captain, this case—there's something here. I'm telling you, it might even tie back to—"
The captain cut him off with a sharp glare. "Ernest, I gave you that file to keep you busy, not to go down another rabbit hole."
"But look at this," Ernest insisted, spreading the pages across the desk. "The disappearances, the strange symbols—this isn't random. There's a link!"
The captain sighed, rubbing his temples. "You don't know when to let go, do you?"
This is worth pursuing," Ernest urged. "You said it yourself, there's more to this than we know. Let me dig into this. Let me prove it."
The captain settled back, observing Ernest for a moment before getting up to use the phone. He dialed a number, listened, and then spoke brusquely. "Yeah, it's me. He's still at it. Thinks he's onto something again.
There was a pause as the person on the other end responded. The captain's expression hardened. "Alright. I'll tell him."
Hanging up the phone, he fixed Ernest with a measured look. "You want to solve this so badly? Fine. But you can't do it alone. You'll need a team."
Ernest frowned. "A team? Of who?"
The captain reached into his drawer and pulled out another folder, sliding it across the desk. Inside were profiles, each with a name and a picture.
"These people," the captain said. "You find them, recruit them, and maybe—just maybe—you'll have a chance. But this is your last shot, Ernest. Don't make me regret it."
Ernest picked the folder and scanned through the profiles as he flipped it. He felt a spasm of hope as he checked each face along with reading its details. It was not going to be any other assignment after all.
Detective Ernest arrived at a quiet US suburban town. The street came alive with voices of passersby and noise from traffic. The small computer shop, between the diner and the thrift store, matched the address in his notebook.
Stepping out of his car, Ernest caught sight of a teenager leaving the shop. This boy wore a gray hoodie. He kept his head down and hastily walked away. He clutched a used messenger bag. There was something that Ernest had noticed in enough individuals to recognize what he was seeing caution, avoidance. Someone who never wanted to stand out.
"Elie!" Ernest called stepping forward.
He stiffened up but didn't look back; his pace hurried.
"Elie, wait!" Ernest called again, louder this time.
Still no response. Ernest moved faster, closing the distance. When he was close enough, he reached out and grabbed the boy's shoulder.
Elie spun around, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance. "Who the hell are you?" he snapped, yanking himself free.
"Detective Ernest," Ernest said, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. "I'm here to talk to you."
Elie's eyes darted around, his body tense. "Yeah, well, I don't want to talk."
Before Ernest could say more, Elie took off.
"Damn it," Ernest muttered, breaking into a sprint.
The boy was fast, weaving through the crowd like a fish slipping through water. Ernest cursed under his breath but didn't let up. Years of chasing suspects had honed his instincts, and he knew when someone was trying to disappear.
"Elie, stop! I just want to talk!"
"Leave me alone!" the boy yelled over his shoulder, his voice edged with desperation.
Ernest pushed harder, finally grabbing the boy's arm as he tried to dart into an alley. He spun him around, pinning him lightly against the wall.
"Let go of me!" Elie shouted, struggling against the grip.
"Listen," Ernest said firmly, his breath coming in short bursts. "I'm not here to hurt you, okay? But I need you to hear me out."
Elie glared at him, his chest heaving. "What do you want from me?"
Ernest relaxed his grip but didn't release it completely. "I am putting together a team. A group of people to help with a case that is bigger than anything you have ever seen. I need someone like you. Smart. Resourceful."
Elie furrowed his brow. "Why me? You don't even know me.
"I know enough," Ernest said, his voice gentling. "I've read your records. I know you've been through things most people can't imagine. You're not like everyone else, Elie. And right now, I could use someone like that."
Elie looked down at the ground. "This sounds like trouble," he muttered.
"It is," Ernest admitted. "But the kind of trouble that needs fixing. And I think you can help."
For a long moment, Elie stayed silent, the tension between them hanging heavy in the air. Finally, he looked up, his expression resigned.
"Fine," he said quietly. "But if this goes sideways, I'm out."
Ernest stepped back, offering a faint smile. "Deal. Now, let's get out of here before someone starts asking questions."
Detective Ernest leaned on the bar of a lively casino, amidst the din of slot machines and cheers of gamblers. He took his drink very slowly, eyeing the crowd. The captain's file led him to this young woman, Dana.
He didn't need much time to spot her.
"Jackpot! Again!"
A young woman, in a red sleek dress, raised her arms up as the crowd responded with applause and murmurs. Dana stood grinning ear to ear by the slot machine, which continued spitting out its tokens like it had an endless supply.
The employees rushed to her with polite smiles but visible frustration; after all, winning the jackpot wasn't very easy, at least not when the odds indicated one in thousands, and here this lady had gone for the highest three times that evening.
"It's like just my lucky day!" Dana shouted, excited, scooping the money towards her.
Ernest took the moment when most people were filing out, and making his way over to her table he waved hello, "Hi Dana?
She narrowed her eyes, and the playful glint in her gaze faded. "Who's asking?"
"Detective Ernest," he said, pulling out his badge discreetly. "I need to talk to you."
She tensed, looking at the casino staff watching her from the corner of the room. "Look, if this is about the winnings, I didn't cheat."
"I'm not with the casino," Ernest replied calmly. "But I am here for you."
Her brow furrowed, and she folded her arms. "Why? What do you want?"
Ernest leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "I'm working on a case—a big one. Something that needs someone with your… talents."
Dana's lips curved into a sly smile. "Talents? What are you talking about? I'm just lucky."
Ernest smirked. "Hitting three jackpots in a row? Sure, luck's one way to put it. But I think you know better."
Dana's smile wavered for a moment before she regained composure. "Even if I was interested, why would I help you?"
Ernest stood up straight, his face serious. "Because this isn't about money or luck. This is about stopping something dangerous. People are dying, Dana. And I think you're the kind of person who can help me figure out why.
She stared at him, her playful demeanor fading entirely. After a long pause, she sighed. "This sounds like trouble."
"It is," Ernest admitted. "But the kind that's worth fixing."
Dana tapped her fingers against the slot machine thoughtfully before shrugging. "Fine. You've got my attention. But if this gets messy, I'm out."
"Fair enough," Ernest said, extending a hand.
Dana shook it, her mischievous smile returning. "So, what's next, Detective?"
Next," he said, steering her toward the door, "I introduce you to the team."
Detective Ernest pulled up to a quiet diner on the outskirts of town, the neon lights flickering in the fading evening light. Inside, the atmosphere was relaxed, with only a few patrons scattered throughout. In the far corner booth, a woman sat alone, sipping coffee and scribbling notes into a small notebook.
Ernest had been assigned the name Lykan—another individual with a strange set of skills. Her file mentioned a former police officer turned private investigator, and from what he gathered, she was sharp.
"Lykan?" Ernest asked, approaching the table.
The woman looked up from her notebook, her piercing blue eyes scanning him carefully. A wry smile crept onto her lips as she set the pen down. "You must be the detective."
That's me," Ernest replied, sitting across from her. "I'm here about a case. I think you could help."
Lykan tilted her head, her smile never fading. "Help, huh? What kind of case are we talking about?
Ernest paused, getting straight to the point. "I'm assembling a team to combat a deadly threat. There is a conspiracy brewing-one that can pull apart everything there is-and I need people who can handle it."
She locked him in for a moment before speaking in a voice that said she had weighed her options. Then, without hesitation, she leaned forward.
"And what's in it for me?" Lykan asked outright.
Ernest didn't bat an eyelid. "A paycheck. The kind of money you won't find in a typical case. We're talking about the sort of work that demands more than just skill. It requires commitment. People's lives are at stake.
Lykan considered this, tapping her fingers against the table thoughtfully. "I've heard a lot of offers in my time. Money's always a good motivator, but this—" she gestured vaguely—"sounds like something messier than I'm used to."
Ernest smiled slightly. "You don't get many chances to make a difference in a case like this, Lykan. Think of it as an opportunity to really put your skills to use."
Lykan didn't take long to make up her mind. "Alright. I'm in. But you better be sure about this. Because once I'm involved, there's no backing out."
Ernest's smile widened. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Without another word, he handed her a folder with the team's details.
Lykan picked it up and flipped through the pages. "You've got an interesting group," she said, her eyes scanning the names. "I'll be ready when you are."
Ernest nodded. "We leave tomorrow. No time to waste.
Clattering tools and whirring machinery echoed in the dim workshop, where AJ was concerned solely with the latest of his marvelous inventions. A young prodigy in the business, AJ saw to the building of intricate devices with his mind perpetually running a step or two ahead of everyone else. Ernest had stood there at the door for a minute, thoroughly unnoticed by the engineer busy in the workbench.
"AJ," Ernest finally called, coming into the messy room.
AJ raised his head. He was distracted for a split second before recognition set in that it was the detective. "Oh, it's you. What's up?"
"I need you for a job," Ernest said. "You are the best at this kind of work, and we have a case that needs your expertise."
AJ raised an eyebrow. His curiosity was piqued. "A case, huh? What kind of case?"
Ernest set a file down on the workbench in front of AJ, who still fiddled with some sort of odd device. "Something. unconventional. Hazardous. I need a person who can build weapons, gadgets, and tech that's going to be effective in the field. Something that can get us out alive."
AJ paused a moment, taking in Ernest, his smirk quite evident. "Sounds like a good challenge. And what's in it for me?
Ernest leaned in a little. "The pay is more than decent. And you'll be working on something that really matters—this isn't just another tech project."
AJ looked at him for a long time, then nodded. "Alright, I'm in. But I get full creative control on the gadgets."
Ernest grinned. "Deal.
He entered an underground fight club in dim light, the pounding of fists against flesh and the roar of the crowd filling his ears. Krist stood in the middle of the ring, muscles flexing as he threw a final punch to knock the opponent to the ground. The crowd erupted in cheers, shouting his name.
Krist wiped the sweat from his brow as the referee held up his arm in victory. He was quite something, no doubt. Ernest, pushing through the crowd, called out, "Krist!"
The fighter looked across to where Ernest stood, a slight smirk crossing his face as he leapt out of the ring. "You the detective?
"That's me," Ernest said, offering a hand. "I'm here to offer you a job."
Krist grinned wider. "A job, huh? What kind of job?"
"I need someone who can handle themselves when things get rough. Someone who's not afraid to get their hands dirty."
Krist chuckled. "Sounds like my kind of job. What's the pay?"
Ernest smirked. "Enough to keep you in the ring for a while. But this is about more than just money. It's about stopping something that could destroy everything we know."
Krist didn't hesitate. He clasped Ernest's hand firmly. "You've got yourself a deal. Let's go smash some heads.
The last team member was an unexpected find in the studio. He wasn't thinking about art studio or someone sitting inside it and creating beauty from hauntings as Ernest stepped in with fresh paint scents floating around. He quietly stood there watching her for a few moments, clearing his throat after a while to make her realize that he is here.
"Jan?".
Jan didn't bat an eyelash. She just looked up from her painting, her sharp eyes scanning him in passing before nodding. "Detective Ernest. I figured you'd show up eventually."
"That so?" Ernest asked, intrigued. "I'm here because I need you. There's a case I'm working on, something that requires your unique perspective.
Jan laid down her paintbrush, her eyes locked onto him. "A case, huh? You need an artist for what, exactly?
"I need someone who can see beyond the surface," Ernest explained. "This isn't just about facts and logic. It's about understanding things that don't make sense, things that others can't see. People's lives are at stake, and we need you to help us figure out what's really going on."
Jan considered his words for a long moment, then smiled faintly. "You're asking a lot, Detective. But you're right about one thing—sometimes, the answers lie in what isn't immediately obvious."
Ernest leaned forward. "This could be the biggest case of your life. And you'll be paid well for your time."
Jan stood up, picking up her bag. "Alright, I'm in. Let's see what this is all about."
The team is now complete, and for the first time in months, Ernest felt a flicker of hope. Each member brought something unique to the table, and together, they might have a fighting chance against the horrors lurking in the shadows. But just as he began to believe they could take on anything, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced down at the screen, his heart sinking.
The message was from an anonymous source, marked with a single image, a gruesome crime scene. The victim's face was barely recognizable, blood pooled beneath their body. The most chilling detail wasn't the mutilation and it was the symbol carved into the victim's chest.
An infinity sign.