Wait for me Kobe!

As the countdown clock ticked away the precious seconds, the police control room descended into a frenzy of activity. Chief Ramirez and Detective Kobe Winston were at the heart of the maelstrom, their voices rising above the din as they barked orders to the gathered IT specialists.

"I want that video contained, now!" Ramirez bellowed, his face flushed with a mixture of anger and urgency. "We cannot have this spreading to the public, to the media. The last thing we need is a citywide panic."

Kobe nodded in agreement, his own expression grim. "You heard the chief," he said, his deep baritone cutting through the chaos. "Every second that footage is out there is another second our killer has the upper hand. Shut it down, lock it up, whatever you have to do. But do it fast."

The IT team scrambled to comply, fingers flying over keyboards, eyes glued to flickering screens. They worked with a fevered intensity, each one keenly aware of the stakes, of the life that hung in the balance.

Amidst the controlled bedlam, Detective Jane Harlow stood like a stone in a rushing river. Her eyes were distant, her brow furrowed in deep thought. She barely seemed to register the activity around her, so lost was she in the labyrinthine workings of her own mind.

And then, like a bolt from the blue, it hit her. Her head snapped up, her gaze instantly seeking out her partner. "Kobe," she said, her voice low but intense. "I think I might have a way to turn the tables on this guy. But I need to confirm something first."

Kobe was at her side in an instant, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "What are you thinking, Jane?"

She shook her head, already moving towards the door. "I can't say just yet. I don't want to get anyone's hopes up. But there's something about the way he fought, something that's been nagging at me. I need to check on it."

She paused at the threshold, turning back to face the room. "I need an hour," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "One hour, and I might have something. In the meantime, keep working on containing that video. We can't let it spread."

With that, she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her. Kobe stared after her for a long moment, a furrow of worry creasing his brow. He knew Jane, knew the brilliant, labyrinthine workings of her mind. If she said she had a lead, he believed her.

But he also knew the toll this case had taken on her, the personal demons she wrestled with every day. He could only hope that whatever path she was on now, it would lead to answers, not more heartache.

Shaking off his concerns, Kobe turned back to the task at hand. "You heard her," he said, his voice ringing with authority. "One hour. Let's make it count."

As the team redoubled their efforts, Jane was already speeding through the dimly lit streets of Straton, her mind racing as fast as the car beneath her. She had one hand on the wheel, the other scrolling through her contacts, searching for a number she hadn't dialed in years.

Finding it, she punched the call button, putting the phone to her ear as she wove through the light early morning traffic. It rang once, twice, three times, each unanswered tone ratcheting up her anxiety.

And then, just as she was about to give up, a voice crackled through the speaker. "Hello?" It was rough with sleep, but instantly recognizable.

"Sensei Nakamura," Jane said, the words coming out in a rush. "It's Jane Harlow. I know it's very early, and I'm sorry to bother you, but I need your help. It's an emergency."

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and then a sigh. "Jane," Nakamura said, and even through the phone, she could picture the wry smile on his weathered face. "It's been a long time. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Jane felt a small smile tug at her lips. Nakamura had been her karate instructor for years, a mentor and a friend. He'd seen her through some of the darkest times in her life, had helped her channel her anger, her pain, into something productive.

"It's a case," she said, sobering. "A bad one. I need your expertise, Sensei. I think it might be the key to cracking this thing wide open."

"Say no more," Nakamura replied, and she could hear the rustle of movement, the creaking of floorboards. "Come to my house. I'll be waiting."

Jane felt a surge of gratitude, of relief. "Thank you, Sensei. I'll be there in twenty."

As she ended the call, she could only hope that her hunch would pay off, that Nakamura would be able to give her the answers she so desperately needed.

Back at the precinct, Kobe was standing over the shoulder of a young tech, watching as the man's fingers danced across the keyboard. On the screen, a driver's license photo stared back at them, the face of their latest victim.

"Dr. Amanda Reeves," the tech read off, his voice tight with tension. "Thirty-eight, works at Straton General."

Kobe nodded, his jaw clenching. "That fits. Our guy seems to have a thing for medical professionals."

He straightened up, turning to face the room. "Alright, people, let's work this angle. I want a full background on Dr. Reeves, everything from her favorite coffee shop to her third-grade teacher. And let's start tracking that car. It's a long shot, but it's all we've got right now."

As the team leapt into action, Kobe could only hope that wherever Jane was, whatever lead she was chasing down, she was having better luck than they were.

Twenty minutes later, Jane was standing on the porch of a modest house on the outskirts of the city. Before she could even raise her hand to knock, the door swung open, revealing the familiar figure of Sensei Nakamura.

He looked much as she remembered him, perhaps a bit more grey at the temples, a few more lines around the eyes. But his gaze was as sharp as ever, his bearing still that of a man who knew the value of discipline, of control.

"Jane," he said, stepping aside to let her enter. "It's good to see you, though I wish it were under better circumstances."

She nodded, following him into the sparsely furnished living room. "Believe me, Sensei, so do I."

He gestured for her to sit, lowering himself into a chair across from her. "Tell me about this case."

And so she did, the words pouring out of her in a torrent. She told him about the murders, the abductions, the twisted games their killer seemed intent on playing. She told him about Sarah, about Leah, about the doctor snatched just hours ago.

Through it all, Nakamura listened in silence, his expression grave, his eyes never leaving her face.

When she finished, he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him. "A difficult foe," he said at last. "Cunning, ruthless. But not invincible."

Jane leaned forward, a spark of hope kindling in her chest. "That's why I'm here, Sensei. In the video of the last abduction, the way he fought, the way he moved... it was familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I was hoping you might be able to help."

Nakamura nodded slowly. "Show me."

Jane pulled out her phone, queuing up the footage. She watched Nakamura's face as he viewed the brutal struggle, saw the way his eyes narrowed, the way his mouth tightened into a grim line.

When it was over, he sat back, his expression thoughtful. "You were right to come to me," he said. "I do recognize that style. It's a martial art from the Philippines, known as Kali Arnis."

Jane felt a thrill of excitement, of vindication. "Kali Arnis," she repeated, committing the name to memory. "I've never heard of it."

"Not many outside the Filipino community have," Nakamura said. "It's an ancient art, passed down through generations. It focuses on fluid movements, on using an opponent's energy against them. And it has a heavy emphasis on weapons, particularly knives."

Jane nodded, her mind racing. "That fits with what we've seen. But Sensei, how did you recognize it? It's not exactly a common style."

A shadow seemed to pass over Nakamura's face, a flicker of old pain. "I had a student, years ago. A young man from the Philippines. He was talented, dedicated. And he had a passion for Kali Arnis."

He stood abruptly, moving to a bookshelf in the corner. He ran his fingers along the spines of the books, seeming to search for something. Finding it, he pulled out a thick, leather-bound volume.

"I've kept in touch with many of my old students over the years," he said, flipping through the pages. "Including some who went on to become instructors themselves."

He stopped at a page, tapping a finger against a photograph. "Here. This is the man who taught my student. A master of Kali Arnis, one of the best in the world."

Jane leaned in, studying the image. It showed two men, one older, one younger, both clad in traditional Filipino garb. They were smiling, their arms around each other's shoulders.

But it was the younger man that caught Jane's attention. Even in the grainy, faded photograph, there was something about him, something that tugged at her memory.

"Sensei," she said slowly, "this student of yours... what was his name?"

Nakamura's gaze was heavy, weighted with a sorrow she couldn't quite understand. "Rodel," he said softly. "Rodel Marquez."

Jane felt the world tilt around her, felt the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with a sickening clarity. "Rodel Marquez," she repeated, her voice sounding distant to her own ears. "Sensei, I think your old student might be our killer."

Nakamura closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. "I had hoped... but no, I suppose I am wrong".

He opened his eyes, fixing Jane with a look of steely determination. "If Rodel is behind these atrocities, then it is partly my responsibility to stop him. I will help you in any way I can."

Jane nodded, a grim resolve settling over her. "Then let's go pay your old friend a visit. If anyone can confirm Marquez's involvement, it's him."

Thirty minutes later, they were standing on the doorstep of a small, nondescript house in the heart of Straton's Filipino community. Nakamura rapped sharply on the door, his posture tense, his eyes watchful.

After a long moment, the door creaked open, revealing a man in his sixties, his hair grey, his face lined with age and experience. His eyes widened as they fell on Nakamura.

"Katsuragi," he said, his voice tinged with surprise. "It's been a long time, my friend."

"Too long, Manny," Nakamura replied, bowing his head in respect. "I wish I could say this was a social call. But I'm afraid we have urgent business to discuss."

He gestured to Jane. "This is Detective Harlow. She's investigating a series of crimes that we believe may be connected to one of your former students."

Manny's gaze sharpened, his brow furrowing. "A student? Which one?"

In response, Jane held out her phone, the paused video of the attack cued up. "Do you recognize this man?"

Manny took the phone, his eyes widening as he watched the brutal scene unfold. But it was when the camera zoomed in on the killer's leg, on the glint of metal that could only be a prosthetic, that he truly reacted.

The color drained from his face, his hands beginning to tremble. "Rodel," he whispered, his voice thick with horror, with a terrible, dawning realization. "My God, Rodel, what have you done?"