It was past midnight, the city bathed in a cold, pale light, its streets eerily quiet—almost too quiet. No one noticed the shadow slipping between the buildings, a figure cloaked in darkness, its eyes fixed on a single target. The target has no idea, the figure thought, a smirk tugging at the corner of its lips.

On the other side of the street, inside a dimly lit office, Detective Marcus Trent sat alone, staring at the screen in front of him. The words on the monitor blinked, a single message typed by an anonymous source: "You'll never find them before it's too late." He had received messages like this before—cryptic, threatening. But something about this one felt different. Something was off, and it gnawed at him. He knew the pattern by now, knew what to expect, yet this time—this time, his mind couldn't shake the feeling that the game had changed.

He clicked the mouse, scrolling through the encrypted files sent to him. There was no clue as to who the sender was, no indication of where they could be. Just the message: "You're already too late." His pulse quickened. His instincts screamed that this was the moment—this was the game-changer. Someone, somewhere, was moving pieces on a chessboard, and he hadn't even realized it.

His phone buzzed. One message. "Marcus, it's started. Are you ready?" It was from a colleague. The one person who knew what this was all about. The one person who had been there from the beginning. But that was the problem. She was too close to it. He had always wondered—had she known more than she let on? Was she playing him, just like the rest of them?

He stood, pacing around the small room, his mind working at full capacity. Where were they? Who was behind this?

There was no time to think. His phone buzzed again. This time, an image. A video. He hesitated before opening it. When he did, his breath caught. It was a face—a young woman, bound, her eyes wide with fear. The video was shaky, but clear enough to show her desperate expression as she whispered, "You have to stop him. He's watching…"

Before he could process, the video cut off, replaced by a series of numbers flashing on the screen. His heart pounded. He recognized them. Coordinates. Coordinates to the location of the woman. But who had sent them? And more importantly—how had they known what he was about to do?

The lights flickered, momentarily plunging the room into darkness. The silence was suffocating. In that instant, Marcus realized the truth. The game wasn't just a game anymore. It was a countdown. A countdown to something far worse than he could ever have imagined.

Suddenly, his phone rang. The caller ID was blocked. His stomach twisted. He hesitated before answering. There was no greeting, just a voice, low and cold.

"You're too late, Detective. They're already dead."

The call ended abruptly.

Marcus stood frozen, his mind racing, trying to piece together the fragments of the puzzle. Dead? Who? His heart slammed against his chest, but before he could react, the room darkened again, and in the silence, the faintest sound echoed through the air.

A soft whisper. "It's your move."

And then—nothing.