The evening sun bled through the iron-barred windows, casting long, jagged shadows across the room. A single beam of light struck a young boy's face, illuminating the splatters of blood that stained his skin. His jet-black hair fell over his eyes, messy and damp. Near the corner of his left eye, a faint, weathered scar—the mark of an old ailment—stood out against his pale complexion.
He held his head tilted upward, eyes closed, as droplets of blood slowly traveled down the strands of his hair and dripped onto the floor.
The boy was slumped against the wall for support. One leg lay flat and straight against the cold ground, while the other was pulled up in a sharp triangle. He rested his left hand carelessly atop his knee, his posture unnervingly still.
_______
The heavy silence was shattered by the screech of the front gate swinging open.
Five officers in crisp uniforms entered the house. Leading the group was a man who stood at least six feet tall, his build solid and imposing. Two stars caught the light on his shoulders, marking him as the commanding officer.
He looked to be in his mid-thirties, his face etched with the weariness of a man who had seen too much.
"Spread out," Jack ordered, his voice low and gravelly. "Check for survivors. See if anyone is still breathing."
While his subordinates moved deeper into the house, Jack remained by the entrance. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it with a steady hand, and took a long drag, exhaling a cloud of gray smoke into the stagnant air.
"Sir! Sir... Jack!"
One of the officers came sprinting back, his face pale.
"Report," Jack said, barely looking up. "Why the rush?"
"Sir... there are four bodies. All dead," the officer stammered, catching his breath. "But we found a boy. He's unconscious, but he's alive."
"Lead the way," Jack commanded, flicking his ash.
As Jack stepped further into the home, the carnage became clear. Furniture was overturned, and personal belongings were scattered across the floor like debris after a storm. As he approached the staircase, his eyes fell upon the body of a woman.
She lay crumpled against the bottom steps, her head twisted upwards towards the ceiling, her legs sprawled out on the lower landing. But it wasn't just her unnatural posture that made Jack freeze. An axe, buried deep, cleaved her skull precisely down the middle, splitting her head into two ghastly halves. Her face, what remained of it, was a mask of thick, dark blood.
Jack stopped, his breath catching in his throat despite years of witnessing horrors. This wasn't just murder; this was a statement. He took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke suddenly tasting bitter.
"Clear the area," he ordered, his voice sharper now, cutting through the heavy silence. "Nobody touches anything until forensics is done. And seal off the entire block."