Chapter 3: The Dead Who Kill

The clock ticked loudly in the dim conference room, each second scraping against Tanaka's nerves. Files were spread out across the table, pictures of crime scenes, coroner's reports, and background information on the victims. Haratu Sota stood at the whiteboard, his sleeves rolled up, marker in hand, drawing lines between names, dates, and places.

Tanaka watched him, almost hypnotized by his relentless focus. Every move was deliberate, every connection he made adding weight to the suffocating theory they were building. Outside the station, the city still drowned under the suffocating mist, as if the weather itself mourned the deaths they were investigating.

"We have to think differently," Haratu said at last, stepping back to study the growing web of information. "It's not just the dead being linked to the living. It's the timeline that's under attack."

Tanaka frowned. "What do you mean?"

Haratu circled three dates in red. "Look carefully: the murders happen after the murderer's own death — but the murders themselves are tied to major revelations. Things that were supposed to stay hidden." He tapped the board sharply. "It's as if someone is forcing the cycle... manipulating both life and death to control the outcome."

Tanaka swallowed hard. It was insane. Impossible. And yet... nothing else explained the nightmare they were facing.

"You're suggesting," she said slowly, "that someone is... using dead people to kill?"

Haratu gave her a grim smile. "Not in the supernatural sense, no. But someone is creating a timeline where the illusion of murder by the dead becomes a weapon. If we understand how they manipulate the timeline, we can find the mastermind."

He turned to the map and drew a thick black line through the city, connecting the locations where the bodies had been found.

"The geography also matters," he said. "The bodies aren't random. They're forming a pattern—like the hands of a clock moving backward."

Tanaka leaned closer, her heart pounding. Indeed, the points connected created a spiral, turning counterclockwise, almost like time itself was unraveling.

"But what does it mean?" she asked.

Haratu looked at her with fierce certainty.

"It means the next murder is already planned. And we can predict where and when it will happen."

---

The Silent Witness

The next morning, Tanaka and Haratu stood outside an abandoned hotel on the edge of the city. The building loomed like a skeletal giant, its broken windows gaping open like mouths screaming into the fog.

"This is the next point," Haratu said, adjusting his gloves. "If the pattern holds, another body will be found here. Maybe even today."

They moved carefully through the crumbling halls, their footsteps echoing off peeling wallpaper and broken glass. Dust swirled in the weak morning light. Tanaka's hand hovered near her weapon, every nerve on edge.

As they rounded a corner toward the grand ballroom, they smelled it—

That terrible, coppery scent of blood.

A figure lay crumpled at the center of the room, beneath a shattered chandelier.

Tanaka rushed forward, kneeling beside the body. It was a woman, no older than thirty, dressed in casual clothes. Her neck was twisted at an unnatural angle, her face frozen in a silent scream.

Haratu crouched beside her, examining the scene.

"Dead for about twelve hours," he murmured, eyes sharp. "No defensive wounds. No sign of struggle. Same as the others."

Tanaka scanned the room. "No witnesses. No cameras. Just like before."

"But this time," Haratu said, standing slowly, "they made a mistake."

He pointed to a nearby pillar. Faintly, barely visible, were fingerprints in the dust. Two sets. One larger, one smaller.

"They weren't alone," Haratu said. "Someone else was here. And they might not be dead yet."

---

The Living Link

Hours later, back at the station, the forensic team finished analyzing the prints.

"The larger set belonged to the victim," an officer reported, adjusting his glasses nervously. "But the smaller set..." He hesitated. "They're from a man named Kento Yajima. Small-time criminal. Last known alive three days ago."

Haratu's expression hardened. "Was his body found?"

The officer nodded grimly. "Yes. Three days ago. Suicide. Jumped from the Akebono Bridge."

Tanaka slammed her hand on the desk in frustration. "Again? The killer is already dead?"

Haratu leaned back, thoughtful. "No. This time, I think he was forced."

Tanaka stared at him. "Forced? Forced to kill after death?"

Haratu shook his head. "No. Forced to die... before he could reveal something."

The theory settled in the room like a heavy fog. Haratu rose from his seat, pacing.

"Think about it," he said. "If Yajima was involved—maybe as a witness, or even a pawn—he had knowledge someone didn't want to risk leaking. They forced him into killing, then orchestrated his death to continue the illusion."

Tanaka exhaled slowly, realization dawning.

"They're not just killing people. They're controlling them even in death."

"Exactly," Haratu said. "This entire cycle... it's manufactured."

"But why go to such extreme lengths?" Tanaka asked, her voice hoarse. "Why make it so complicated?"

Haratu stopped pacing. His next words were low and cold.

"Because they want to send a message. A message that even death won't protect you. That no secret is safe."

---

A Message from the Past

As the day wore on, Haratu delved deeper into Yajima's background. He discovered that three years ago, Yajima had been a delivery driver for a private courier service—a service that had been quietly shut down after a major scandal involving corporate espionage and bribery.

"Yajima must have been involved," Haratu muttered, scanning old news reports. "He probably carried something he shouldn't have."

Tanaka frowned, studying the file. "But the scandal was buried. All the key players walked away clean."

"Exactly," Haratu said. "Someone powerful enough to rewrite the story. Powerful enough to kill, to silence, to manipulate."

He stood up abruptly. "We need to find the original case file. The one they tried to bury."

Tanaka blinked. "You think it still exists?"

Haratu gave her a grim smile.

"Secrets don't disappear. They just get buried. And someone forgot to bury it deep enough."

---

Into the Shadows

That night, Haratu and Tanaka broke into an old storage warehouse belonging to the defunct courier company. It was a risky move—illegal, even—but Haratu moved with the confidence of a man who knew the law bent easily for the sake of truth.

The warehouse was a cavern of rusted metal shelves and crumbling cardboard boxes. Dust choked the air. Rats scurried away into the darkness.

Haratu led the way with a flashlight, scanning labels, searching for anything that might have survived the company's fall.

At last, he found it: a battered filing cabinet tucked away behind a stack of broken pallets. He forced it open and rifled through the contents.

There, near the back, he pulled out a thin, weathered folder.

Tanaka peered over his shoulder.

Inside were manifests—names, dates, locations. And at the bottom, a single, yellowed photograph.

A group of men in suits, standing together and smiling. In the center was a man Tanaka recognized immediately—the current mayor of the city.

Her blood ran cold.

"They killed to cover this up," Haratu said, voice hard as steel. "And they're still killing to make sure no one ever sees it."

He tucked the folder into his jacket. "We have proof now."

Tanaka swallowed. "But what about the cycle? Won't they keep killing?"

Haratu's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light.

"Not if we break it."

Outside, the mist pressed closer against the warehouse windows. The city waited, holding its breath.

The Reverse Cycle was still turning — but for the first time, they had a chance to stop it.