Into the Mind of Madness

The rain still whispered against the city's windows like soft fingertips brushing cold glass. Inside Saint Ainsley Psychological Research Institute, the air was warmer but carried the sterile sharpness of clinical minds and shattered thoughts. The ticking of a distant clock echoed as Kiaan Verma stepped past the frosted-glass doors of the Psychological Department, his black coat still damp and heavy with the scent of London streets.

At the far end of the corridor, a woman stood before a board filled with x-ray scans and neurological data—Dr. Elina Warren, one of the UK's top criminal psychologists, known for consulting on some of the darkest minds the Crown had failed to cage.

She turned as the footsteps approached, her sharp eyes meeting his like two chess players silently sizing each other up.

"Mr. Verma," she greeted with a poised smile. "Or should I say, the man chasing ghosts?"

Kiaan didn't smile back. "Dr. Warren. I need your mind. And I need it fast."

"Then come in," she said, motioning to her glass-walled office.

Inside, Kiaan tossed a folder onto her desk. Dozens of photos spilled out—victims, crime scenes, patterns. The cold stare of dead eyes, carefully posed limbs, messages like art installations from a disturbed genius.

Dr. Warren's brows lifted as she slowly ran her fingers across the details. "You're not here about random killings. These are staged."

Kiaan nodded, voice clipped. "Four victims. All under 23. Three males, one female. All attended the same off-record seminar last year—a private military youth program. Whoever's doing this has erased the seminar from every official database. And he doesn't just kill—he displays."

Dr. Warren's eyes gleamed with intrigue. She sat down slowly, crossing one leg over the other. "This killer doesn't want to disappear. He wants you to watch."

Kiaan leaned forward. "Tell me what we're dealing with. I don't have time for slow profiling. I want to know his rhythm. His compulsion. His trigger."

Dr. Warren closed the file and looked at Kiaan with unsettling calm.

"He's not compulsive. He's calculated. Every kill is a performance—each corpse tells a narrative. He's mimicking control. Dominance. But more than that—he's revisiting something. Something he thinks he's correcting. Maybe from that seminar. Something personal."

"Revenge?" Kiaan asked.

"Possibly. But not just revenge. Punishment. These victims weren't random—they were chosen for what they represented. My guess? He knew them. Or they were involved in something he considered betrayal."

She tapped one photo—Isaac Drewe, the marionette pose.

"He doesn't just kill. He humiliates them in death. He wants control back. That means he's suffered a loss of power in the past. Maybe abuse. Maybe a failed mission. Either way, this isn't over. You'll have a fifth victim."

Kiaan clenched his jaw. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Dr. Warren leaned in. "And when you find him... don't underestimate him. He's not insane. He's logical, articulate, patient. But he believes what he's doing is righteous. That makes him ten times more dangerous."

Kiaan stood. "Give me a psychological profile by tonight. Every detail."

She smiled faintly. "Already working on it, Agent Verma. But if I were you, I'd look not just into who was part of that seminar… but who wasn't supposed to be there."

As Kiaan walked out, her voice followed him like an echo:

"Monsters don't hide in shadows anymore. They hide in the memory of being forgotten."