After that fateful night, Mike vanished completely. He left no note, no text—only a resignation letter lying cold on the Warden's desk, written with a chillingly final hand. The sudden disappearance of the precinct's "ace" sparked rumors, but to me, it was a vast, haunting void.
And just as expected, once the tiger had left, the hyenas began to bared their teeth.
My suspension order wasn't just enforced; it was accelerated with more horrifying, forged evidence. Yuchi was now the new "queen" of the precinct, casually seizing my desk and throwing all my belongings into the trash in front of everyone.
"See? Without that psycho brat protecting you, you're nothing." Yuchi sneered, stepping on a family photo of mine that had fallen to the floor. "The CEO is still waiting in his private office. He said if you're 'obedient' enough to serve him, he might spare your father's pathetic life."
The oppression didn't stop there. My privileges were stripped, and I was thrown into a temporary holding cell under the guise of an "ongoing investigation." Colleagues who once flattered me now took turns mocking me, some even spitting into my meal tray as they walked by.
I sat in the corner of the dark cell, my lips parched and my body exhausted. Without Mike, this world had become unbelievably cruel. Every footstep in the corridor made me flinch, hoping for that familiar, tall shadow, only to be met with crushing disappointment.
Is Mike really gone? Does he hate me so much that he'd leave me to be trampled like this?
I regretted those harsh words, yet felt a twisted sense of relief that he was no longer involved in this filth. But this loneliness... it was gnawing at my very soul.
Meanwhile, out there, no one knew where Mike was. Some said they saw a shadow standing in the rain outside my father's house; others spoke of a young man with empty eyes sharpening surgical blades in an abandoned basement. Mike didn't quit to run away—he quit to start a hunt, free from the shackles of law or morality.
In the cramped cell, the smell of mold and the steady drip of water felt like a countdown to my demise. I buried my face in my knees, the stifling sobs finally breaking free. Amidst the gloom, a faint glimmer caught my eye from my ring finger.
The ring. Mike had slipped it onto my finger on a golden afternoon, whining for me to "belong to him forever." When I spat those cruel words at him, I had intended to rip it off, but something in the back of my mind held me back, making me forget.
A hot tear fell onto the deep blue sapphire of the ring.
Plink.
The moment the tear touched the stone, the ring vibrated subtly, a wave of warmth spreading through my hand. I had no idea that Mike had intricately embedded a biosensor inside it. My racing heart, my absolute terror, and my tears were the only activation signals.
Not far from the precinct, in a room filled with surveillance monitors, Mike sat motionless in the dark. His hollow eyes stared at the photos of me plastered all over the walls. Suddenly, the device on his wrist emitted a frantic beeping, flashing a violent crimson.
The sensor reported: Hime is crying. Hime is in danger.
Mike bolted upright. The black in his eyes was instantly consumed by a crimson more manic and bloodthirsty than ever before. He didn't smile; he didn't pout. He simply pulled on a pair of sleek black leather gloves.
"So... without me, you're this pathetic, Hime?"
Mike whispered, his voice so cold the air seemed to crystallize.
"You said you hated me, said I disgusted you... but why are you still wearing that ring? Why are you crying for me?"
He picked up a killer's mask from the table, a long, satisfied breath escaping his chest. Mike had found his reason to return. Not as a warden, not as a "puppy," but as a crazed avenger who would level anyone daring to touch his most precious "toy."
That night, the precinct had no idea that a "natural disaster" was on its way back
I drifted into a deep, exhausted faint on the cold stone floor, unaware that outside my bars, a literal hell was breaking loose.
1:00 AM. The entire precinct's power was severed. Surveillance cameras went dark. The emergency alarms shrieked for a fraction of a second before being silenced by the explosion of the backup generators. In the pitch-black void, steady footsteps echoed down the corridor—not the heavy thud of combat boots, but the light, chilling slide of leather soles.
"Who's there? Who cut the lights?" the guard outside my cell shouted, fumbling for his flashlight.
A flickering blue flame from a lighter ignited, revealing Mike's face. But the "puppy" was gone. He wore a silver half-mask, his eyes glowing a manic crimson through the slits as he stared at the guard like a piece of rotting meat.
"You're the one who spat in her food, aren't you?"
Mike's voice was a low, raspy growl. Before the guard could even scream for help, Mike lunged. A dry crack echoed as the guard's neck was snapped 180 degrees. Mike casually pulled out a white silk handkerchief, wiped the blood from his hand, and glanced into the cell where I lay unconscious.
"Sleep well, Hime. When you wake up, the people who made you cry... will no longer exist."
That night, the precinct became a blood-soaked art gallery. Yuchi woke up in the breakroom to a chilling sensation at her throat. She opened her eyes to see Mike perched on the edge of her bed, twirling a scalpel. Before she could scream, he stuffed a rag into her mouth, smiling tenderly:
"Shh... Hime is sleeping. Don't be noisy, or I'll skin you while you're still awake."
The next morning, as the first rays of sun filtered through the cell bars, I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw wasn't the grimy walls, but the iron cell door twisted like a scrap of paper. The corridor was unnervingly silent. No shouting, no whispering. Only the overwhelming scent of fresh roses filled the air. And on the desk across from my cell sat a bowl of steaming hot porridge with a small note in elegant handwriting:
"The porridge is hot, eat up before I take you home. The trash... I've cleared it all out."