A / R / C

MASTERLIST ⟡ KO-FI

𝗣𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗫 𝗖𝗢𝗗𝗘𝗦: #EOBC58 | #A11E21 | #283F76

Dagger with sheath (2nd half of the 16th century)

Kunsthistorisches Museum Vienna

The dagger combines luxury materials and courtly craftsmanship typical of Ottoman elite weaponry, with strong emphasis on ornamental surface treatment.

Type: Dagger, ceremonial weapon

Overall size: 31.6 × 5.8 × 2.5 cm

Overall weight: 0.277 kg

Sheath: 21.6 × 3.3 × 2.0 cm

Sheath weight: 0.171 kg

Origin: Turkish (Istanbul ?)

Material: Iron, gold, jade, gemstones

Technique: Forged, cast, engraved, chased, gold inlaid, stone-set

Decoration: Gold-inlaid blade inscriptions; gemstone inlays; engraved and chased gold mounts; jade grip and sheath with gold-inlaid decoration

Wheel-lock tschinke from Teschen, Silesia (now Cieszyn, Poland) 17th century

Partner: "How so?"

Detective: "You see, I don't think I can do this on my own. I have Informers who know better than me. I will let them have a voice before I make a decision."

Partner: "Fair enough. I'll be waiting at 1. As you know from the files, the crime scene is at 10. I know 14 is the Therapist."

Time: 0h

———

The Detective walks to 14 and knocks on the door. A person opens the door. They have glasses and a clipboard. Upon noticing the Detective, the clipboard is hidden. The Detective sighs as he takes out his badge.

Detective: "I'm here about the recent case. I have some intel that you may have information which can help."

14 puts their hands up.

#14: "Look, I can't help you. It's my job to keep my clients safe. They come to me for secrecy and I will get fired if I say anything. I'm sorry."

Detective: "There has been a murder, and you're concerned about privacy?! I could have you arrested for intervening with investigation. Besides, you don't have to tell me who. Just how many. I'll figure the rest myself."

#14: "Fine, fine. As far as I know, none of the people who have come to me are part of the Syndicate but you didn't hear it from me."

The intel came to the Detective via a dead drop. It always came in the form of a message. It was too dangerous to pass this information in person. The Detective started to read the message before hearing a gunshot go off.

Detective: "I told them to be careful!"

He shakes his head and ran to the next dead drop location. This place clearly wasn't safe anymore.

That was next door. Easy enough...

Address 15 was... Heavily protected. There was a barbed fence. It was locked, which the Detective thought was redundant. At least, if one were so concerned about protecting themselves, they should lock the gates! It was reckless, and the previous Informer proved so. And—

A flash from the window distracted the Detective from his thoughts. The shutters close immediately.

Detective: "HEY!"

He runs to the door and knocks on it. The door doesn't open. The Detective curses under his breath for his own rash actions. He takes a step back. He hears the sound of multiple locks being undone, one by one. The Detective lets out a sigh of relief. He hasn't scared a possible witness. Not yet, at least. He supposed a healthy dose of paranoia didn't hurt in this town. Especially with the Syndicate running around.

15 was in a bad shape. Well, 15 did look healthy but it was clear the other man was frightened.

#15: "O-oh! You're the Detective! I've read about your cases! I appreciated the last c—"

Detective: "I'd rather not talk about that. It's an honor you like my work but I want to focus on the current one."

#15: "Right, right. Where are my manners? I apologize. I am so glad you're here. The Syndicate are too frightening for me. It's why I have four locks on my doors. Better to be safe than sorry..."

Detective: "I don't blame you."

#15: "Ah. You're here for the Syndicate, right? I have all sorts of information. I've been keeping an eye on everyone in this town."

The Detective walks with 15 to a board with pins and red string.

#15: "You probably need this information more than me!"

The Detective looks up from the note. Interestingly, the board looks like a simplified map of the town.

Detective: "What does the blue circle mean?"

#15: "It's someone that I have determined as Innocent. I'm not sure about the ones with question marks. But the resident in #12 is not with the Syndicate."

Time: 4h

———

Detective: "Thank you for your cooperation and information."

#15: "Of course, Detective. I am glad to be of service to your work. I hope you find the Syndicate."

The Detective leaves, satisfied with the answers he has received. He decides to double back to #13. #13 seemed almost out of place for this small town. Too fancy. In gold cursive, the glass windows read J. FULTON'S. The bell rings as the Detective enters.

#13: "Oh, hello! Are you here for a fitting?"

Detective: "Unfortunately, no. I wish I was here in lighter circumstances. I'm here because of the Syndicate."

#13: "I see... You would be surprised what someone in my occupation would know. Syndicate or not, everybody loves a little fashion. All it takes is a little thread and a needle to connect things together."

Detective: "I appreci—"

The sound of a gunshot interrupts the Detective. Both men look concerned.

Detective: "Shit-! That sounded like it hit #9!"

The Detective takes his pistol out and rushes to the location. 9 is... Surprisingly ordinary. A house, one a family could live in. The Detective puts his entire weight on the door, breaking it open.

Detective: "THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! YOU NEED TO GET OUT—"

The words die in the Detective's throat as he sees a small, young body on the floor with a hole in his chest.

Detective: "Jesus fucking Christ—"

He runs over to the child's body, holding the boy. The blood stains the Detective's uniform. Where are the parents?! Why are they here to look over the boy?! Why did he have to die alone?!

Funny how memory works. It only takes a few reminders, and the Detective is back in the past. A fire. A child. A failed father. A corpse. A funeral. Termination. The Detective's hands are shaking. Why is there always blood on his hands?!

Detective: "WHO WOULD DO SUCH A THING?! WHAT SORT OF MONSTER COMMITTED THIS ACT?!"

Whoever it was, the Detective is damn sure that he will have just as much mercy as they did. The Detective is now Hellbent. If the Informers wish, instead of investigating, they can have the Detective shoot on sight. If the target is evil, the Detective will gain +2 Reputation. Otherwise, the Detective will lose 4 Reputation.

The Informants were right. The Detective still had a job to do, even if a Youngster died. The only thing he could do now for the child is find the culprit. Since 15 said 12 was good, it is best to check on that claim.

12, ironically, was a hospital.

Detective: "If only I known about this place sooner, maybe..."

The Detective shook his head. Even if he ran, the child wouldn't have made it. Pipe dream. He enters.

The fluorescent lights in The Hospital buzzed like a trapped fly, and Detective hated every second. The surgeon's office smelled of antiseptic and iron. He knocked on office door of the head Surgeon. The door didn't budge, however a voice called from inside.

#12: "In a moment!"

A few minutes later, 12 comes out in a surgeon's uniform. 12 pauses.

#12: "You're the Detective, aren't you? And I am guessing you are here for the autopsy. I apologize sincerely for making you wait."

Detective: "You analyzed the body?"

#12: "Indeed. It's not everyday we get a murder victim, not that I pray for one. I just figured, since I was the best here... I might as well do my part of the investigation."

Detective: "And what did you find?"

#12: "Walk with me, Detective. I have a round to do in a few minutes. It is best if you ask your questions quickly. Also, is that blood on your uniform?"

The Detective looks down on the stains.

Detective: "It's not mine. I... There was an incident outside-"

#12: "And you were trying to assist them but you were too late. I understand the situation too well. Such unfortunate things happen too. We can be as we can be but we're all human in the end."

Detective: "Right... What was the cause of death?"

#12: "What, you don't read your own case files?"

Detective: "I want to hear it from the mouth of a professional, not someone else who just wants the case closed."

#12: "Gunshot wounds, three of them. All in the chest."

Detective: "And?"

#12: "All different angles, although that means nothing these says. What I did find is that the bullets were different. This murder wasn't done by one person, Detective."

Detective: "And where is that evidence now?"

#12: "In my office. You can come to collect it later."

Detective: "I'll need a list. Everyone on staff that night. Everyone who saw the evidence. This cannot leave the building. The murderers can't know I am on to them."

#12: "Be rest assured, Detective. I have no intentions on gossip. Such things bore me. I believe your time is up and I have the living to attend to."

Time: 8h

———

The Detective walks up to address 7. Ah. A church. This must have been new, because the Detective didn't remember a church being here. He takes his hat off as he enters.

The Detective is met by a smiling priest, holding his hands behind his back.

#7: "Have you come to pray?"

Detective: "No. I'm investigating the Syndicate."

#7: "I see. I am a man of peace. Anyone is welcome under this roof and I do not ask questions."

Detective: "So, you admit to housing Syndicate members?"

#7: "Last time I checked, equality is not a crime. If criminals wish to worship, I am not denying them such a right."

Detective: "It is a crime to assist criminals—"

#7: "Which you have no proof of me doing. Honestly, Detective. It is quite a low blow to point fingers at a man of God. I thought men your position knew better."

7 moved closer to the bottles of communion wine. Enough to be in arm's reach.

Detective: "I can't help but notice that you seem nervous."

#7: "Anyone would be with such an accusation. You have a vivid imagination for a man who claims to deal in evidence."

Detective: "I deal with patterns. Why does a man of peace keep his hands behind his back the entire time he's talking to me?"

#7: "Habit. Force of habit, Detective."

The Detective's eyes narrow as he places a hand on his pistol.

The Detective takes out his pistol and points it at 7. 7 clutches the cross around his next with one hand, and the neck of the bottle in the other.

It's not worth losing the reputation. He lowers his weapon and puts it in his pocket.

Detective: "I'll be keeping an eye on you."

#7: "You won't need to. Everyone is God's witness."

The Detective sighs as he leaves. He puts his hat back on and walks next door to 8. It's a converted radio station on the edge of the district. Its call letters are still stenciled above the door in flaking gold paint. Inside, the air smelled of ozone and old paper, barometric charts pinned to every wall.

A man was slumped on his chair, by the broadcast desk. In front of him is a written forecast, yet to be announced. The pen is still in his hand. The page read "The forecast for today! #2, #9, and #12!"

Detective: "Pardon my intrusion. I have some questions—"

He stopped. Up close, the man's color was wrong. It was pallor under the studio light. 8's hands were trembling.

#8: "Questions? Question about what?"

The words were strained as 8 was having difficulty talking.

Detective: "About the Syndicate. I'm investigating them. I was wondering if you had information."

#8: "So you're the Detective. Rather fine time for questions. Feeling a bit under the weather myself if you pardon the—"

8 laughed, which caught him in a cough. He doubled over, causing him to brace the desk with a hand. The Detective analyzed the scene.

Detective: "When did this start?"

#8: "A few hours ago."

Detective: "Did anyone send you food or drinks since?"

#8: "Yesterday, someone left me some coffee and a note. Said I could help with the extra caffeine."

Detective: "Is that the brew?"

The Detective motions to the mug of coffee on the table.

#8: "Yes. Had it this morning because I was struggling. I didn't think I would get worse."

Detective: "May I?"

8 lazily nodded. The Detective picked up the mug. There was a light scent of almonds in the mix.

Detective: "It's what I suspected. Don't touch anything. I'll go get you medical assistance."

#8: "Medical assistance? For what?"

Detective: "Cyanide. Someone wanted you dead."

#8: "Why would anyone want me dead?!"

Detective: "That's what I'm trying to figure out. But I need you alive first. That's more important."

The Detective moves quickly. Someone shoves past him as he leaves. The Detective stops in his tracks and turns around to see who it was. Why was resident 12 going into the weather station?!

It took a few moments for the Detective to recognize the Surgeon.

Detective: "You're not his doctor!"

The Detective ran back. He hit the door shoulder-first. The scalpel was already through the second stroke of its arc once the Detective was inside. 12 didn't run. He straightened, wiped the scalpel once against his coat. 12 has clearly done this before. 12 turned around, facing the frozen Detective.

12: "You should learn to trust your instincts faster, Detective. He was already dying. I only tidied the paperwork."

The Detective said nothing. He was looking past 12, at the man in the chair. Then he looks at his intel.

Checking on another location will get his mind off the bloodshed. 11 was a converted university laboratory. The Detective found the door propped open with a stack of journals. Inside the room was a man in a stained lab coat hunched over a workbench crowded with vials, and index cards.

11: "I don't often get visits from the department. Usually it's the other way around."

Detective: "You send the department information?"

11: "When I have something worth sending. I study the mind, body and behavior. I analyze people."

Detective: "You're building profiles."

11: "Precisely. Most people can fake the words, Detective. Almost no one can fake the biology underneath them."

Detective: "And you think this tells you who's Syndicate."

11: "I think it tells me who's lying, and about what, and how well-trained they are at it."

Detective: "I will come back when I have information to check."

#11: "I will see you then, Detective."

The Detective heads to 1, to return to the Partner. He finds the Partner in the Police Department building.

Detective: "I would like to request the list of suspects."

The Partner gives the Detective a sheet of paper

SUSPECTS:

Innocent

Mathematician

Partner

Priest

Reporter

Researcher

Skeptic

Tailor

Therapist

Weatherman

Romantic

Meddler

Copycat

Stalker

Surgeon

Youngster

Underling

Casanova

Mobster

Poisoner

Scoundrel

Traitor

Critic

Hitman

Detective: "Thank you, I will look into these."

The Detective walks next door to 2. It's an abandoned shack of sorts. The Detective nervously takes out his gun and knocks on the door. The door opens by itself.

Detective: "Hello? I'm from the Police Department. I'm here to get information!"

The hallway is long and dark. The resident's voice echos down the hall. It sounds like several voices speaking in discord.

#2: "Oh, I am here, Detective. Don't you worry. I know who you are."

Something stands in a dark corner. On the walls, the Detective can see boards filled with information about different residents. Accurate information. It's more than the Detective could collect.

Detective: "What's the meaning of this? You stalk people?!"

2 laughs.

#2: "What I do is no different to you, Detective. I'm just... More efficient. I have to watch, in order to survive."

2 steps out of the shadows. His appearance is exactly the same as the Detective's, and his voice settles as the Detective's as well.

#2: "You'll find someone for me, won't you?"

The Detective slowly backs away towards the door.

Detective: "...Maybe later."

The Detective frantically grabs the door and shuts it as 2 lunges.

Detective: "What the hell is happening in this town?!"

Deciding he doesn't want to find out what would happen if he stays here, the Detective moves on. He walks over to 4. Like 9, it seems like a normal suburban home. Two of the same place? Interesting. The Detective places a hand on his pistol and uses the other to knock on the door.

#4: "Coming!"

The Detective hears the door unlock. Behind the door is a teenager.

Detective: "Your parents aren't home?"

#4: "Nah. They're busy. Doing work. You know how it is. They have their work and I have mine. Besides, I'm old enough to be alone by myself."

Detective: "May I come in?"

#4: "I don't see a problem with it."

The kid opens the door and the Detective walks in. 4 closes the door and puts his hands in his pockets.

Detective: "I see that your parents put in safety measures."

#4: "You mean the lock? Yeah... They're worried about the Syndicate."

The Detective nods.

Detective: "Understandable. Hopefully, things will calm down soon."

#4: "I don't mind it so much."

Detective: "And why's that?"

#4: "I don't have to go school."

The Detective chuckles.

Detective: "I see. That's understandable. Did your parents tell you anything about the Syndicate?"

4 shakes his head.

#4: "What am I supposed to know? I'm just a kid, Detective."

The memory of holding the body of the child residing at 9 lingers in the Detective's mind. Something feels... Off. His hand is shaking as he grips the pistol. The Informers know what to do.

The hand moves from the pistol.

Detective: "Just stay safe,

okay?"

#4: "Of course!"

The Detective leaves

quickly. His hands are still trembling. He shakes his head. What was he thinking? The image of a child's body lingers in his mind. He keeps walking, hoping to distract himself. He stops at 3 and knocks on the door. The door opens, and it's a lady on the other side.

#3: "You must be the Detective I heard about."

Detective: "Yes, I am. You must have heard of the Syndicate."

#3: "Who hasn't, when it's all over the news? Please, come in."

The Detective walks in.

Detective: "Your place is nice."

3 laughs.

#3: "Oh, it's not mine. I just staying here for a few days. I got engaged recently, so we're having a little honeymoon."

3 holds up her hand to show the Detective her ring.

Detective: "Oh, congratulations!"

#3: "Thank you, Detective."

Detective: "Who's the lucky partner?"

#3: "He's currently working at the moment. You can find him at 7."

Detective: "The... Church? You're engaged to the Priest?"

3 laughs again.

#3: "There's nothing wrong with a little faith in a relationship."

Detective: "I suppose there isn't."

Detective: "I hope you have a good rest of the night."

Or rather whatever is left of it. 3 smiles.

#3: "You too, Detective."

The Detective walks down to 5 and slowly comes to a stop. The place is as fancy as 3, but the lights are off. He can hear sobbing from inside. Whatever celebration which was supposed to take place, it was put to a halt. The Detective sighs as he knocks on the door. The sobbing stops as footsteps approach the door. An exhausted man with wet eyes opens the door. He looks at the Detective with tired disinterest.

#5: "What do you want."

Detective: "I'm investigating the town because of a murder. I'm just looking for the Syndicates. If this is a bad time, I can come later."

5 shakes his head and widens the door.

#5: "No, I might actually have something. I believe I am a victim of one of them."

Detective: "I see."

The Detective walks in.

Detective: "If it's not intrusive and related to the case, may I ask what happened?"

5 covers his face and sniffs as he tries to calm down. Then he nodsp.

5: "Uh. My lover ran away with someone else. I found evidence of it. Some young playboy caught her attention."

The Detective places a sympathetic hand on 5 shoulder. He knows love is... Complicated. He may be a Detective, but love is one of the mysteries he can't solve. The last relationship ended with a corpse and screaming.

Detective: "I'm sorry to hear that."

#5: "Mm. I got this place for the two of us. Thought it would be good to be away from everything else and relax. Clearly, this was a waste of money. You'll find the one who did this, right?"

Detective: "I'm only a Detective, not a miracle. But I will try. It's my job."

#5: "Good."

Detective: "I hope you eventually feel better."

#5: "Me too."

With that, the Detective leaves. He takes out a pair of handcuffs and heads down to 7. He sighs as he pushes open the church doors. The Detective thought this house of God was empty until he heard footsteps. Before he could turn around, the Detective felt an arm hook around his neck.

#7: "You should have shot me when you had the chance."

The Detective elbowed backwards hard before a handheld cross on a rosery came in contact with his skin. Perhaps it wasn't a cross, given the action, but the Detective had no time to think about it. The shove pushed the Priest backwards, landing him near several wine bottles. The Detective's eyes widened in quick realization as he ran to somewhere for cover.

Detective: "Shit—!"

The bottle left the Priest's hand in a blur, a green arc catching the candlelight before it shattered against the stone pillar beside the Detective's head. Glass rained down, and beneath the sound of it, the Detective heard the unmistakable hiss of liquid meeting air. The liquid smelled like almonds, like the Weatherman's coffee.

The Detective was already moving. His shoulder hit the pew as he dropped and rolled, the second bottle sailing through the space where his skull had been a half-second before. It burst against the altar cloth, and the fabric began to smoke where the liquid touched it, eating through the white fabric. The Detective narrows his eyes at the sight. It was becoming quite obvious this was no Priest. This was Syndicate work, for sure.

Detective: "Not a drop of holy water in this whole damn church, is there?"

The not-Priest didn't answer. The smile was gone now, peeled away to something leaner and colder underneath. It was replaced with the calm, calculating stillness of a man who had done this before. He was already reaching for the third bottle, fingers closing around its neck, when a shot rang from the Detective. The bullet misses the Syndicate member, and lands on the vestment rack beside him instead. The not-Priest shook his head.

#7: "Careful, Detective. You break enough of my collection and someone's going to have a very bad night breathing in here."

Detective: "Put it down."

#7: "You first."

The not-Priest threw the bottle sidearm, low, aimed for the Detective's feet. It was not to kill, the Detective realized. But it was too late. The poison was filling the air. The Detective did his best to cover his nose and mouth with his arm. Despite his efforts, the Detective felt the mist of it graze past his cheek. The poison was close enough that his eyes stung and his throat went tight.

He could just see the not-Priest was already running for the vestry door, but the slick stone pushed him backward instead of forward, skidding on marble slick with spilled wine. The Detective took the opportunity and apprehended the other man. The cuffs made a satisfying click as they went around the Underling's hands.

Detective: "You're under arrest."

The Detective sat opposite his Partner at the Police Department.

Detective: "Me too. I wouldn't have done it without the Informers."

Partner: "He had vials in the cloak. They were all labeled. Addresses, dates... Most importantly, they were all bearing the Syndicate's seal."

The Detective sighs and shakes his head.

Detective: "It seems the Father was a sinner, after all. There are more Syndicates to find in the city. Best I get going."

The Detective opened the next piece of intel from the Informers.

The Detective walks into 2 with his gun in his hand. He didn't like the place, but the Informers know best. It doesn't hurt to have some protection. He stopped behind the figure in the room.

Detective: "You wanted help?"

#2: "Yes. I need someone to... Be."

Detective: "I have an address for you, then. I want you to take a look at 3."

The thing in the shadows seemed to smile. The Detective took a slow, careful step back as it stood up.

#2: "Thank you, Detective."

Before the Detective could respond, 2 ran past him. It ran faster than any human the Detective has seen.

Detective: "Hold on—!"

The Detective chased after it, realizing too soon that this could have been a mistake. By the time the Detective arrived at the address, he saw 2 jump in through a window like an animal. The silence was interrupted by two gunshots, followed by 3 screaming in fear. The scream was cut short. The Detective decided to disregard his fear and swung open the door. The Detective eyes widened as he looked at the bloody scene. What remained of 3 was in pieces on the floor. He heard the sound of flesh shifting and bones snapping. The Detective's hands are shaking, and he was struggling to keep the pistol pointed at what he assumed was 2. The mass was shifting in front of his eyes. It suddenly stopped, finally taking the form of the woman she just killed. She looked at the Detective with the same eyes as 3 did when he was investigating her.

#2: "Don't give me that look, Detective. She was a liar. I think I know who I am, now."

Detective: "What the hell are you?!"

#2: "A Romantic. Unlike her, I can finally love myself for who I am. I owe you one, Detective."

Detective: "How— How did this happen?! How could all of this be real?!"

He sat with the corpse for a bit. It didn't matter if this was a Syndicate member. It still was impossible. For the speed of... Whatever 2 was. It was a separate mystery to the one he was currently solving. It's going to be a pain to report. He can't exactly tell his Partner that he saw something kill 3. Not without being thrown into an asylum. He'll have to be smart about this. But that's a future Detective problem. There's still Syndicate in this town.

He stands up and starts walking down to 6. Even from a distance, he could recognize the Daily Suspect building. He entered.

The Daily Suspect's newsroom was quiet at this hour. The building was a social war room, if anything. One wrong move, and the Detective knew his reputation would go down. Too low of a reputation... And... Well. He's been through that before. Journalists do love their drama. He found 6 alone at his desk, feet up, and a cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers.

Detective: "Got a minute?"

#6: "For the city's finest?"

The journalist was reading, reviewing a draft of tomorrow's edition. He set the pages down.

#6: "Always."

Detective: "I find it interesting how you seem to arrive before anyone else."

#6: "It's called journalism and investigation, Detective. Try it sometime. I have things to write, Detective. If you're gonna accuse me, at least give me the pleasure of knowing what it is so I can have the next guy write about it."

Detective: "I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm just saying it's really good work."

Better than the Detective, it seems.

Detective: "I've seen your articles about the Syndicate. What do you know about them?"

#6: "I've been watching them for a while. I believe I trailed the nearest Syndicate. They live 4 addresses from here. Is that good intel?"

Detective: "For now."

The Detective heads to the door.

#6: "You'll read the headline tomorrow?"

Detective: "Of course. Might give me a few extra clues to this case."

He heads down to 16. Now, this was the church he remembered. Like the other church, the Detective took off his hat. The priest he met inside wasn't smiling. He was very somber.

#16: "I am the Priest."

Detective: "I can see that. Did you know there was another church?"

16 shakes his head.

#16: "I was not made aware. It must have been recently built."

Detective: "Probably. An Underling was hiding there."

16 shakes his head.

#16: "That is a shame, really. There are some people who just want to take advantage of those who don't know better."

Detective: "It is a shame. We could do with a lot more honest people. The other Priest tried to poison me with the communion wine. I trust you enough to not do the same."

The priest chuckles.

#16: "I'm glad to have the honor, but no one in this town is to be trusted. The false believer proved such."

Detective: "How does something like that happen? A stranger sets up shop in a building that isn't even his, calls himself a man of God, and nobody in the diocese notices for weeks."

The priest sighed.

#16: "The honest answer, Detective, is that we trust too easily and verify too rarely. A building goes up, a collar goes on, and people assume the rest follows. It's meant to be a comfort. Anyone can walk through our doors and be believed. I imagine that's precisely why he chose it."

Detective: "He used the confidentiality of confession as a shield. Told me himself he doesn't ask questions of who walks in."

#16: "That much, unfortunately, wasn't a lie."

The priest's expression tightened.

#16: "The seal of confession is sacred. It's meant to protect the penitent, not the predator. But I won't pretend men haven't hidden behind it before him, and won't again after."

Detective: "Doesn't that trouble you? Building something meant to protect people, knowing it can be turned into a weapon just as easily."

Detective: "Trust goes both ways."

#16: "Wise words to live by, Detective."

Detective: "Perhaps I could use some of your service. The reporter at the Daily Suspect."

The priest nods and makes a cross in the air.

#16: "Of course. He will be in my thoughts, as will you. I pray this will be all over soon, and you bring justice to the town."

Detective: "As do I."

The Detective leaves the church and heads to the Daily Suspect at 6. He took out the cuffs, having them ready. He wanted to avoid the struggle he had in the church. 6 was still reading over tomorrow's edition.

Detective: "I have a question for you."

6 sighs.

#6: "Hit me with it, Detective."

Detective: "What was the point of making me go on a wild goose chase?"

6's smile widened.

#6: "I suppose it took you long enough to put the clues together. Shame, really. I was just enjoying this case. This cat and mouse game. I was starting to think you'd walk out of here without ever putting it together. You really are a true investigator."

The drawer came open before the Detective's pistol had fully cleared leather. 6's hand emerged with a revolver already leveled.

#6: "I saved a bullet for you, Detective."

There was no wasted motion, no hesitation. The Detective threw himself sideways behind a filing cabinet as the first shot took a chunk out of the doorframe where his head had been. The Detective fired back around the cabinet's edge, blind, buying himself a beat of cover. The return shot came a half-second before he'd even finished moving.

Detective: "You're no Reporter!"

6 laughed.

#6: "Quite obvious now, isn't it? Syndicate's small-time, if that's the theory you're building. Turf and money and people in nice clothes playing at crime lords."

6 fired again, and the bullet almost hit the Detective's head. The Detective realized with a cold realization that these weren't random shots. He wasn't being chased. He was being read. The Detective changed direction on instinct alone, breaking left instead of right, and the bullet that would have caught him buried itself in a filing cabinet instead.

#6: "The problem with this city is it's too predictable. Everyone is so readable. It's practically an open book."

Detective: "Who are you."

The Detective came up behind an overturned desk, pistol steady now, breath ragged. Maybe if the Detective kept 6 talking, 6 would be distracted enough to be arrested.

#6: "A Traitor. There's a difference between us and the Syndicate, and you're about to learn it the hard way."

6 stepped into the open between the rows, no cover, no fear of exposing himself.

#6: "The Syndicate thinks they're the ones pulling strings in this city. Cute. Precious, really. They always need to feel in power. We're the ones who know the true nature of everything, Detective."

Detective: "You're insane."

#6: "Think what you want."

6 fired twice more, forcing The Detective down behind the desk.

#6: "Go on, Detective. Arrest me. Shoot me again if you manage to land one. Changes nothing. I already know how this ends."

The Detective realized that 6 wasn't fighting to win. 6 was fighting to prove a point, unhurried, almost bored, the way a man plays a game he's already seen the last move of. So he decided to do something unpredictable. The Detective threw himself forward instead, into the open, straight at 6. It bought the Detective exactly the half-second of surprise he needed. 6's shot went wide as the Detective slammed into him. The revolver skittered away across the floor. 6 laughed even as the Detective pinned his arms.

#6: "And here it is. My ending. You have a good spirit, Detective. You'll need it."

Detective: "Save it for the Judge."

6 laughter became louder.

#6: "Oh, I don't think I gotta worry about that!"

Partner: "It's almost as if he doesn't exist."

Detective: "What do you mean?"

Partner: "There's no records. Now, the Hitman might just be very good at keeping information private... But you would think there would at least be some form of identification. A birth certificate, at least. There's absolutely nothing."

Detective: "That is odd. Is there anything you could find?"

Partner: "Yes. We took custody of several weapons he had hidden in his office. It's almost as if he was waiting for you, Detective."

Detective: "He probably was. You'll keep an eye on him, right? Given he's good at covering his tracks, he's top priority."

The Partner smiles.

Partner: "Of course."

Detective: "I have one more Syndicate member to find and I have a good idea on where to find him."

Partner: "I wish you luck on that."

The Detective sighs. The image of the child's body lingers in his mind. His hands become fists. What monsters.

Detective: "Me too."

The Detective quickly heads to 4. He places a hand on his pistol as he knocks on the door. The man on the other side opens it.

#4: "Is there something I can help you with, Detective?"

4 reached into his pocket.

Detective: "You're under arrest."

#4: "For what?"

Detective: "For now, impersonation. Possibly something worse if I find evidence."

4 continued smiling as he swung forward, with brass knuckles in his fist. The impact pushed the Detective back, giving 4 time to run. The Detective took his time getting his bearings together. He pulled out his pistol and pressed on the trigger. The shot misses, and makes 4 flinch. It's enough for the Detective to catch up. Instinctively, 4 picks up a letter opener on a desk and drives it into the Detective's ribs. The Detective twisted away, and drove an elbow back into 4's jaw hard enough to stagger him into the mantel. For a second, the Detective sees a framed image on the desk. The picture contained three people. 4 was one of them, standing in the middle with the two others having an arm around him. Standing to 4's right, there was the Syndicate woman from 3 who pretended to be a Romantic. To the left, there was the false priest without the holy uniform. Here, the Poisoner seemed mundane.

#4: "If you're wondering, yes. Those are my parents. Well, they more like parents to me than the ones I came from."

Detective: "You know, I've met a lot of men who weren't who they said they were."

#4: "That's the issue with this city. Expectations. The Syndicate doesn't have them."

4 came up swinging with a lamp torn from the side table, metal base catching the Detective across the forearm.

#4: "I doubt that you would've accepted me as I am now if you saw who I was before. Funny thing about being underestimated twice in one lifetime, Detective. You get very, very good at using it."

4 dodged the Detective's swing. He drove a knee up into the Detective's stomach that doubled the Detective over the desk. 4 caught the Detective's next punch on his forearm, twisted, used the momentum to slam the Detective into the bookshelf. The Detective drove a fist into 4's ribs, and used the opening to throw him bodily across the room into the wall.

#4: "You don't think I know what you did? I heard my mother's scream. You killed her. You're not so different than the 'monsters' you hunt."

The Detective froze for half a beat too long, and 4 used it, driving a shoulder into his chest that sent them both crashing through a side table.

#4: "I doubt you even deserve that badge. The police force only wanted you back because we killed every other detective there was. After all, who would want to re-hire the detective who let his own son burn in a house fire. You've spent years hunting ghosts that all lead back to the same organization that took your son from you, and you didn't even know I was one of the ghosts you'd already met."

The rage that went through the Detective then was clean and white and total, and for one long moment he wanted nothing in the world so much as to let it loose completely. His fist found 4's jaw instead. The young man went down hard against the shattered remains of the side table and didn't get back up, dazed, blood running from his split lip. The Detective stood over him. He was breathing hard and his hands were shaking with an anger.

Detective: "I want you in a cell, because the other option isn't justice."

He hauled 4 up by the collar, cuffed him with hands that hadn't stopped shaking, and did not trust himself, not for one single second on the long walk out of that apartment, to look the boy in the eye again.

Case Solved!

Final Time: 29h ( 1d, 5h )

[ Reveal All ]

YOU COME HERE? TO ME HOUSE? AND YOU ASK ME? FOR CORVIDS??? IN THIS DAY???

Sure.

Black-throated Magpie-Jays (Cyanocorax colliei), family Corvidae, order Passeriformes, NW Mexico

photograph via: Gulf Coast Bird Observatory

Racket-tailed Treepie (Crypsirina temia), family Corvidae, Kaeng Krachan NP, Thailand

photograph by Michael Gillam

Common Green Magpie (Cissa chinensis), family Corvidae, order Passeriformes, Mahananda Wildlife Sanctuary, India

Photograph by Sandeep Chakraborty

Tufted Jay (Cyanocorax dickeyi), family Corvidae, order Passeriformes, endemic to Mexico

photograph by Daniel Garza Tobón

Pied Crow (Corvus albus), family Corvidae, order Passeriformes, Etosha National Park, Namibia

Extinctential

(ex-tinkt-ten-shal)

when someone feels connected to catastrophic change, destruction of nature, destruction of humanity itself

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inspired by The Extinction fear entity in The Magnus Archives -⭐

already coined? consider this an alt

there is no incorrect way to use this flag

f2u no credit required but appreciated