Shane looked at Garrick, puzzled.
"A myth? What do you mean by that?"
"It's been seven years… we've been chasing that bastard," Garrick said grimly.
Shane stood up from his chair.
"I've heard that Spyra is a lawless area, but I didn't know about this man."
"Laurelfia has been a crime-free city for years. But Spyra… it's the only black spot. It's filled with criminals like him. And he is the most heinous among them.
"He's committed countless crimes, not only in Spyra but also here, including the brutal rape of a ten-year-old two years ago. We couldn't catch him. He just… disappears in front of witnesses, like this time. He leaves no evidence — only eyewitnesses."
"Chief, how are you so sure he's from Spyra?" Shane asked.
"Only people from Spyra can do things like this!" Garrick's voice cut through the air. "Officers who went there to catch him never returned. One officer who came back was Officer Ray."
"What happened to him?" Shane asked, curiosity piqued.
"He returned mentally unstable and had even forgotten his own name. He died a year later. The last one who went there was Detective Paul."
"This time, we will catch him. I'm looking forward to working with Detective Arlen."
Shane turned toward Douglas.
"And you… you're coming with us."
Douglas panicked.
"Sir, I told you what I know. Why should I—"
"Sssshhhh…" Shane's voice cut him off. He looked Douglas in the eyes.
"You… are going to come with us."
An officer opened the door.
"Chief! Detective Arlen is here. He's waiting in your chamber."
Shane and Garrick went to the chamber.
---
Garrick opened the door. Arlen was sitting in a chair, reading the case report.
"Good morning, Detective Arlen," Garrick said.
Arlen stood. "Good morning, Chief."
Garrick sensed something off about him — the smell of alcohol was strong. Garrick and Shane sat down.
"How are you doing?" Garrick asked.
"Fine… I guess," Arlen replied.
"Have you read about the case?" Garrick asked, placing the forensic report in front of him.
Arlen turned the pages mechanically and placed it back. Garrick couldn't believe how much he had changed. This was not the Arlen he knew. His hair was messy, his eyes red and glazed from drinking, and he looked completely zoned out.
"I'm Shane Gilbert," Shane said, extending his hand.
"Arlen Kael," Arlen replied, forcing a faint smile.
"I've heard a lot about you. It's my pleasure to work with you," Shane said warmly.
"Hmm," Arlen replied, disinterested.
"Well, detectives, you start investigating today. Reach Spyra by night and stay undercover. The route map will be provided before your journey. Be alert and cautious. Good luck." Garrick's voice was firm.
---
That evening, Arlen, Shane, and Douglas set out for Spyra. Shane drove, Arlen sat beside him, and Douglas dozed in the back. Arlen was silent, staring out the window.
As they drove, the day darkened into night. Shane turned on the headlights. A sign appeared in the distance: "Spyra – 1 km."
"I think we're near," Shane said. The road was broken, unlit, and lined with dark trees. Ahead, another rusty sign read "SPYRA" in faded white paint.
Shane stopped the car a few meters before the signboard, as it wasn't completely dark yet.
"I'll get a little sleep. You should too," Shane said, rubbing his eyes.
"I'm fine," Arlen replied.
Shane leaned back and closed his eyes. Arlen took a canned beer from his coat pocket and gulped it down. He tossed the empty can out the window, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears. The silence whispered loudly, and confused murmurs echoed in his mind. Amid the chaos, he recognized a single voice screaming: "Dad!"
Suddenly, Arlen's eyes snapped open. He was breathing heavily, panicking. He opened the car door and stepped out, bending forward, arms resting heavily on his knees, trying to steady his breathing.
A scream pierced the night from a nearby alley. Arlen's body moved instinctively. He pulled a revolver from his socks and ran toward the sound.
Under a tall lamppost, he saw a masked man in black molesting a woman. Arlen shouted,
"Hands up! Don't move!"
The man didn't stop. Arlen moved quickly behind him, trying to pull him away. The man swung his elbow backward, striking Arlen's nose. Blood trickled down his face.
Raging, Arlen grabbed him from behind, wrapping his arms around the man's neck, dragging him back. The man struggled, drawing a knife from his pocket and stabbing Arlen in the thighs repeatedly.
Arlen groaned in pain, fighting to maintain his hold. He fired the revolver. The bullet pierced the man's skull. The echo of the shot reverberated through the night.
Arlen released his grip and stood. Brain matter splattered across the street. Blood pooled at his feet.
He turned back. "Are you all right—?"
The woman was gone. Arlen froze. "Where did she go?" he murmured.
He bent down to remove the man's mask. Terror washed over him. His face turned pale, sweat dripping down his temples.
It was Garrick Vane. Same gray hair, same brown, wrinkled face.
Arlen ran toward the car to confirm it, but no matter how fast he ran, the distance didn't close.
He felt something in his throat. Falling to his knees, he gagged — it looked like pieces of brain blocked his airway. He gasped for air.
Suddenly, a hand emerged from his mouth, pushing outward. His jaw split wide open as a man emerged — a horrifying replica of Garrick Vane, skull exposed, brain leaking. He smiled at Arlen.
Arlen's vision blurred. The man bent down, resting a hand on his shoulder, and whispered:
"Wake up."