Chapter 24

The night air hung heavy and cold over the city streets. An elderly homeless man shuffled along the cracked sidewalk, his worn shoes scraping against the concrete. A persistent buzzing sound echoed inside his head, a constant irritation he couldn't shake.

His movements were unsteady, each step a careful negotiation with balance. The man mumbled incoherently, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.

Suddenly, he bumped into a group of young gang members lounging near a dimly lit alleyway. They wore matching leather jackets and looked up with immediate annoyance.

"Watch where you're going, old man!" one of them shouted, pushing the elderly man back.

The old man stumbled, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Didn't mean to cause any trouble."

The gang members exchanged irritated glances. One of them stepped closer, towering over the frail elderly man.

"You deaf or something?" another gang member called out.

The old man continued to apologize, his voice trembling slightly. The buzzing in his head grew louder, more insistent, but he said nothing about it.

The gang members surrounded the elderly man, their faces twisted with mockery and aggression. They pushed him roughly, laughing as he stumbled.

"Look at this pathetic old man," one sneered. "Can't even walk straight."

Another shoved the old man harder. "What's wrong? You lost, grandpa?"

The buzzing in the old man's head intensified. It grew from a soft drone to a thunderous roar that filled every corner of his consciousness. His hands began to tremble.

The gang members continued their verbal assault, each curse and insult making the buzzing louder. The old man's eyes glazed over, becoming distant and unfocused.

Without warning, he pulled a knife from inside his tattered coat. In a sudden, mechanical motion, he lunged at the nearest gang member. The blade plunged repeatedly into the young man's body, each strike precise and ruthless. The old man moved as if in a trance, his movements completely detached from any human emotion.

The gang members recoiled in shock as their companion collapsed, blood pooling around his motionless body. Stunned silence hung in the air for a split second before chaos erupted.

Two of the younger members pinned the old man against the wall, their hands gripping his arms with brutal force. The elderly man's eyes cleared, horror washing over his face as he realized what he had just done.

"You killed him!" one of the gang members screamed, spittle flying from his mouth.

The old man's hands began to shake. "I... I don't understand," he whispered.

Rage consumed the remaining gang members. One reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol, hands trembling with anger. Another followed, drawing a second weapon. Both guns pointed directly at the old man's head.

Distant police sirens cut through the tension. The gang members exchanged panicked looks. Their wounded companion lay dead, and the police were approaching.

Suddenly, survival instinct kicked in. The gang members dropped the old man and bolted, running in different directions. Footsteps echoed against the alley walls as they scattered, leaving behind their dead friend and the bewildered elderly man.

The police sirens grew louder, drawing closer to the scene of the crime.

Police cruisers screeched to a halt at the alley's entrance. Officers burst from their vehicles, weapons drawn.

"Freeze! Drop the knife!" an officer shouted, his pistol trained on the old man.

The elderly man stood frozen, the bloody knife still clutched in his trembling hand. His eyes darted between the officers, confusion etched across his weathered face.

"I... I didn't mean to," he stammered. "Something was wrong. The buzzing..."

Two officers rushed forward. One grabbed the knife while the other tackled the old man to the ground. The concrete scraped against his cheek as an officer's knee pressed into his back.

"You're under arrest," the officer growled, roughly pulling the old man's arms behind his back.

Metal handcuffs clicked tight around his wrists. The old man winced, his body going limp against the cold ground.

"I don't understand," he mumbled. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. Something was in my head."

The officers ignored his protests, lifting him roughly to his feet. Blood from the nearby victim stained the alley floor, a stark reminder of the violence that had just occurred.

"You have the right to remain silent," one officer began reciting the Miranda rights as they led the old man toward the waiting police car.

The old man continued to mutter, his voice a mixture of confusion and despair. "I didn't do it. Something made me do it."

From a distant rooftop, Me·Ivae·Ba watched the scene unfold with compound eyes that reflected multiple angles of the violent encounter. The Fly Grongi's wings twitched slightly, a barely perceptible movement against the night sky.

"Bzzz-Bzzz. So sorry, but all according to plan," the creature muttered, its voice a low, buzzing resonance that seemed to vibrate through the air.

…

Detective Yuri Watanabe stood at the center of the precinct's investigation room, her sharp eyes scanning the wall of connected case files. Photographs of victims and perpetrators were pinned with red strings, creating a complex web of seemingly unrelated incidents.

She was a striking woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in a crisp dark blazer and tailored slacks. Her hair was cut in a precise shoulder-length style that framed a face marked by years of dedicated police work. Unlike many of her colleagues, Yuri carried herself with a quiet intensity that spoke of both professional determination and deep personal investment in her cases.

The old man from the alley sat in a nearby interrogation room, his hands still shaking. Around him, several other individuals waited - a young college student, a middle-aged accountant, a delivery truck driver - each with the same haunted expression.

Yuri pulled another file, examining the details. Each case shared a disturbing pattern: seemingly ordinary people suddenly committing violent acts, all reporting the same strange symptom - a persistent buzzing sound in their head just before the incident.

The college student had attacked his roommate with a kitchen knife. The accountant had driven his car into a crowded sidewalk. The delivery driver had strangled a customer during a routine package delivery. Each perpetrator claimed they weren't in control, that something else was driving their actions.

Yuri's fingers traced the connection between the files. Something wasn't adding up. These weren't typical criminal profiles. These were people who seemed genuinely confused and horrified by their own actions.

She goes into the interrogation room and talks to the old man, her voice calm but direct.

"My name is Detective Yuri Watanabe. Can you please tell me what happened last night?"

The old man looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of terror and confusion.

"I didn't mean to kill the guy. I swear! I keep hearing this buzzing sound. It was everywhere!" he whispered. "It was getting louder and louder until I couldn't think anymore. Before I knew it, I had a bloody knife in my hands."

Yuri thanked the old man for his cooperation and stepped out of the interrogation room. Detective Deen Marcus approached her, his notepad filled with scribbled notes.

"Same story as the others?" Yuri asked.

Marcus nodded. "Word for word. Buzzing in the head, sudden violent outburst, complete shock afterward."

Yuri's brow furrowed. Something felt off about these cases. The pattern was too consistent, too precise to be random mental breakdowns. She leaned against the wall, her mind working through the connections.

"This isn't just a series of mental health incidents," she said quietly.

Marcus scoffed. "What else could it be? We've got multiple witnesses, clear evidence. These people committed violent crimes."

"It's too uniform," Yuri pressed. "Every single perpetrator describes the exact same experience. The same buzzing. The same loss of control."

The other detective crossed his arms. "Without other evidence, they're still guilty. We can't ignore the facts. People died. These individuals are responsible."

Yuri knew Marcus was looking for a straightforward solution. But her years on the force had taught her that straightforward solutions were rarely the truth. Something was happening beneath the surface of these cases.

"We need to dig deeper," she insisted.

Marcus shook his head. "We've got confessions. We've got evidence. What more do you want?"

"I'm going to get to the bottom of this," she declared, her voice steady and resolute. "Something doesn't add up, and I'm not going to stop until I understand what's really happening."

Marcus watched her with a mixture of respect and resignation. He knew Yuri well enough to recognize that look - once she locked onto a case, nothing could deter her. Her investigative instincts were legendary in the precinct, and her persistence was unmatched.

"Just don't go too far out on a limb," Marcus warned, but there was no real attempt to stop her. He knew better than to try and rein her in when she was onto something.

Yuri was already gathering her files, her movements quick and purposeful. She pulled on her jacket and checked her service weapon out of habit.

Marcus called after her as she headed toward the door. "Hey, Watanabe," he said, his tone serious but supportive. "If you need backup, just give me a call. I'll be there."

She paused at the doorway, turning back with a slight nod of acknowledgment. No further words were necessary between them. Marcus understood Yuri's method, and she knew he had her back when it mattered most.

The door closed behind her with a decisive click, leaving Marcus to return to his own work, confident that Yuri would uncover whatever mystery was hiding beneath these seemingly random violent incidents.

***

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