A New Case

"I'm still on a case," said Sycamore with exhaustion as a crisp white folder dropped on top of his cluttered desk. He looked up and glared at Jon Handel, one of the Lieutenants of the Central Homicide Unit - Criminal Investigation Department (CID).

Jon leaned casually against the desk, his expression unreadable. "Wrap that up, it's a possession anyway."

Sycamore's frown deepened. "Lieutenant..."

"Yes, Sergeant Yoo?"

With a groan, he reluctantly cracked open the folder, revealing reports on missing persons cases. "Why escalate this?" He dropped the folder open on the table.

"Two months, six reports, all females in their 20s, last seen in Hovan district."

"Hovan?" Sycamore's voice lowered, and they shared a look. He immediately read more of the file's contents. "What are we thinking?"

"Certainly not for ransom. Though most victims are from affluent families, there had been no demands, no witnesses." Jon straightened up slightly and crossed his arms.

"Rich folks. They would think their daughter must be at their private villas or partying somewhere in Hovan... until a month has passed."

"No witnesses?"

"Exactly," Jon nodded. "We've got a situation brewing. Each district handled protocols on their own. Curfew is now at 9 PM, anyone out past that must go home with a family member or patrollers."

Sycamore sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. With enough information, he finally stood up. "So who's on my team?" He put on his leather jacket.

Jon's lips formed a knowing smile. "Take the new face and Kit with you."

He paused. "Only three of us?"

"And Cindy."

"Fuck Cindy."

"Too bad nobody wants to," Jon chuckled, a bit too amused.

Sycamore clicked his tongue at the distasteful humor. Yet, since he could not deny his colleague's capabilities, he gave in and aggressively gathered the folder. "Call them, and we'll take room 2."

"Good. Get to the bottom of this."

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Two women walked briskly through a dark alleyway. The daughter, a woman in her 20s, clung to her mother's arm, her knuckles white.

"Mom, do you think we should have taken the main road?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

The mother gave her a reassuring squeeze. "It's just a shortcut, we'll be home soon."

"Should we call for the patrol? It's past curfew."

"No need, just one more street, and we're there anyway," her mother replied.

Yet the unease lingered. The daughter's eyes darted from shadow to shadow, scanning the narrow alley that seemed to close in around them. The occasional flicker of streetlights cast long, eerie figures that seemed to reach out toward them.

The air was heavy with the scent of damp concrete and garbage, and the sound of distant traffic was muffled by the towering buildings on either side.

A sudden gust of wind swept through, sending a shiver down their spines, and they both glanced over their shoulders.

The wind rustled loose papers and debris, and the night felt like it held its breath and watched.

"It's quite cold tonight, huh?" the mother said, dismissing the eerie sensation they both felt.

The daughter only nodded. They pressed on, the clacking of their shoes echoing, their footsteps rapid upon pavement.

They turned the final corner, the alley growing narrower. Tall, silent walls loomed, and the sounds of the city night were muted here, replaced only by the sound of silence, with every rustle and creak amplified.

The footsteps stopped. They both looked ahead. By a shadowed post with no light, a figure could be seen. It was motionless, its features obscured by the darkness, its presence... menacing.

"Mom..."

The footsteps continued, this time backward.

"Let's go that way."

They turned around and quickly changed paths. The mother, who kept looking back, reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone, dialing the patrol. Her breath was quick and shallow, fogging in the cold air.

Her fingers shook as she pressed the buttons. "Hello? My daughter and I are walking home, and... I just have a bad feeling. Can you send someone to check on us?"

She barely had time to give more details before the person on the phone assured her help was on the way. But when she turned, her eyes widened in terror as she saw the figure swiftly following behind them, seemingly leaping from place to place. The figure moved with an unnatural, almost fluid speed, blending in and out of the shadows.

They quickened their pace, the daughter fumbling with her phone, trying to call 119 this time. Her fingers slipped on the screen in her panic.

A strong breeze passed, and all the sounds quieted. The arm the daughter held onto abruptly stopped, and she turned.

"Mom?"

"Run..." she managed to say, pushing her daughter forward.

The woman was suspended in the air, her eyes now bloodshot, veins red and protruding. Her body was limp, with dangling feet, as if held up by something.

The daughter stumbled, her phone slipping from her grasp. She managed to hit the call button as she fell, the phone connecting to 119.

"Help—" she shouted into the phone, but her voice was cut off as she screamed.

It was quick and brutal. A glint of metal flashed in the dim light, and the mother fell to the ground. Blood poured from her neck, pooling rapidly on the street, some gurgling from her mouth.

The daughter cried out, scrambling to her feet and reaching out to her mother. She couldn't see anyone or anything. A hand grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth to muffle her cries. It was cold and rough, with unyielding strength.

She struggled, kicking and clawing, but it was no use. The shadow had lifted her off the ground, dragging her... somewhere.

The last thing she saw was her mother's pained eyes as she choked on her own blood, and lost consciousness.

A phone lay on the ground, the 119 operator's voice faintly audible, "Hello? Ma'am? Can you hear me? What's happening?"

But there was no response. The alley fell silent, except for the distant wail of sirens approaching too late...