The town of Blackridge had always been quiet, the kind of place where nothing ever really
happened-until the first body was found.
A woman, seated upright in her apartment, wrists and ankles bound with silk ribbons, posed like a
marionette. There were no signs of forced entry.
No fingerprints. No struggle. Just an eerie, unnatural stillness.
Detective Julian Cross had seen his fair share of murder scenes, but this one felt different. Too
clean. Too deliberate.
And when a second victim appeared-same pose, same ribbons, same unsettling perfection-it
became clear. This wasn't random.
Someone was telling a story.
As Julian dug deeper, a pattern emerged. The victims weren't connected by where they worked,
who they knew, or how they lived.
But years ago, they had all been in the same place at the same time. A theater. A failed
performance. A boy humiliated in front of an audience that laughed and then forgot.
That boy was Edgar Vance. And he had never forgotten.
His mother had controlled every aspect of his life, molding him into a perfect performer, punishing
him when he failed.
When he froze on stage that night, she left him, disappearing as if he had never existed. The
audience had laughed.
And now, years later, Edgar had found a way to control them-to pose them exactly how he wanted,
turn them into obedient, lifeless dolls that would never humiliate him again.
And Julian?
Julian had been there too.
The moment he realized it, the pieces clicked into place-but it was already too late. The abandoned
theater was waiting for him, its stage set,
a single chair placed beneath the spotlight. He stepped forward, gun raised, but before he could
react, the ribbons slipped around his wrists.
Tight. Unforgiving. Edgar's voice was calm, almost gentle.
"This time, you get to be my marionette."
The lights dimmed. The music swelled. And the show went on.
Days later, the police raided the theater. No sign of struggle. No blood. Just an empty stage and a
single figure seated in the center.
A marionette, dressed in a black suit, polished shoes, a detective's badge pinned to its chest.
A frozen, painted smile stretched across its lips.
A masterpiece.
And just as the screen faded to black
The puppet's fingers twitched.