DAY 1(The First Clue)

At exactly 6 AM, James and Bernice arrived at the address the serial killer had given them. The street was eerily quiet, lined with twenty-five identical houses. 

"How are we supposed to know which one is his?" Bernice asked, scanning the row of buildings.

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. "How the hell am I supposed to know?" he snapped, irritation clear in his voice.

For three hours, they searched—checking mailboxes, peering through windows, questioning a few early risers—until they decided to take a detour down a narrow lane they had initially ignored for being too...ordinary.

A small paper plane fluttered down as they walked, landing at their feet. James stiffened. Without a word, he stepped forward, picked it up, and unfolded the neatly creased note inside. His eyes darkened as he read aloud:

---

**JAMES, MY OLD FRIEND—OR SHOULD I SAY, CAPTOR.**

**I SEE YOU'VE BROUGHT A NEW FRIEND.**

**SINCE THIS IS YOUR FIRST DAY, HERE'S A SIMPLE CLUE:**

**"AMONG US MAP."**

**LET'S SEE HOW SMART YOU ARE**

---

Bernice frowned. "'Among Us map?' What the hell does that mean?"

James pulled out his phone and quickly searched the term. "There are five maps in the game: The Skeld—spaceship, Polus—icy wasteland, Mira HQ—floating headquarters, The Airship—plane, and Fungle—mushroom forest."

He turned to Bernice. "Look for a house with anything that matches those descriptions."

They spent two more hours searching, but every house was just a regular suburban home—no spaceships, frozen wastelands, nothing remotely resembling the maps.

Bernice huffed in frustration. "What if it's some kind of code?"

James paused, then smirked. "Good thinking, Bernice."

They retreated to their car and started rearranging the letters in different combinations, trying to make sense of it.

Five hours later, after countless failed attempts, they finally had something semi-coherent:

**"KIDS ANGLE. MAPS OF L(T)HE SHIPS!!!"**

Bernice read it out loud. "Kids angle? Maybe that means something short or small?"

"But there are extra letters," James pointed out.

"S, L, U, R, R, I, I, Q," she listed.

James sighed. "Let's keep it in mind, but we have a lead now. Let's check it out."

---

They returned to the spot where the paper plane had fallen. This time, a young boy was playing in a kiddie pool—one that hadn't been there earlier. He was floating toy ships on the water, humming to himself.

James narrowed his eyes. "We've got the ships. What about the maps?"

They watched the boy for an hour, hoping for some clue, but nothing stood out. Just as they were about to leave, the boy's mother walked outside, carrying a towel.

"Lesley! Pool time's over!" she called out.

James' detective instincts kicked in. "Bernice," he whispered, "look at what she's holding."

Bernice followed his gaze and immediately scowled. "James, we're supposed to be tracking a killer, not checking out MILFs. Get your head in the game."

James rolled his eyes. "Not her—the towel. Look closely."

Bernice focused on the fabric. Her breath caught. 

Embroidered on the towel was an **atlas**, and on the other side—**a spaceship, a cruise ship, and an airplane, all against an icy mountain range.**

They exchanged a look. 

This was it.

Without hesitation, they approached the house.

---

"Ding-dong... Ding-dong..."

"Comiiing!" a voice sang from inside.

A few moments later, the door opened to reveal a warm-looking woman with soft eyes.

"Good evening, officers! How can I help you?"

"Good evening, ma'am," James greeted politely. "We were wondering if a man with red hair—ginger—has been staying here recently?"

"Oh, you mean Mr. Alexander? Yes, he came by about three days ago looking for work as my housekeeper."

Bernice kept her expression neutral. "Is he home right now?"

The woman's face fell slightly. "Oh, that's too bad... He left this morning. Around nine."

James clenched his jaw. "Thank you for your time, ma'am. We'll check in with his workplace. Have a good evening."

They walked back to the car. The moment they shut the doors, James slammed his fist on the dashboard.

"Damn it! **Nine.** That's around the same time we got the clue. He played us."

Bernice exhaled, glancing at the house once more. "He's always one step ahead."

James was about to start the car when he noticed something on the trunk. A note, taped neatly to the back. 

He ripped it off and read:

**"Too late, James."**

His grip tightened on the paper, his knuckles turning white. Shadow was toying with them. **Mocking** them.

Bernice sighed. "Let's grab some food. We've been running on fumes all day. I'll get McDee's and Domino's. My treat."

James shook his head, voice low. "No thanks. I'm not hungry."

At that moment, his stomach let out a loud, undeniable growl.

Bernice smirked. "Uh-huh. Sure."

James crossed his arms, scowling. "Ignore that."

Bernice chuckled softly but said nothing, her smile fading slightly as she watched him. There was something about the way he pushed people away—something deeper than just the case.

She didn't press. Not yet.

Instead, she started the car and drove them into the dark, the hunt for Shadow far from over.