The roof of the building gave Luke a view of the campus below. The students moved about like orderly ants, dressed in black robes that mingled with the green grass of the field between the buildings. Luke leaned against the metal railing, his hands open to the void below. One misstep, and he'd be nothing but a splatter on the concrete. He contemplated this gruesome thought, fascinated.

Then, the metal door leading to the roof creaked open behind him. He didn't turn around, still lost in his macabre musings. A voice broke the silence: "I called you several times, and now you're on the roof? That's not like you."

It was a young woman with shoulder-length chestnut hair and soft, cold blue eyes. She wore her cape with a particular grace that exuded a maternal aura, though behind her sky-colored gaze, one could sense a weighty experience. She approached Luke and leaned against the railing, gazing out in the same direction.

There was a silence that lasted a few seconds. "I was on the scene. I saw the victim," Luke said, never taking his eyes off the horizon.

The woman turned to look at Luke. "You... I'm sorry," she said, adding nothing else to those few words.

"I’m still not used to seeing corpses. Ironic for someone who worked in a cemetery, isn't it, Hannah?" Luke said, with a hint of cynicism.

Hannah looked at him empathetically. "I'm sorry to be so direct, but..." she began.

"Yes, there was a ghost," Luke interrupted, not giving her time to finish her question.

The young woman looked surprised. "So, were you able to talk to her?" she asked.

"The ghost of a recently deceased person is difficult to interrogate because they're too confused. But it's even more complicated when the death was violent," Luke explained, his eyes avoiding hers. "Her ghost was completely disoriented. I couldn't get anything out of her," he said, bitterly.

Hannah sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "Really..." She leaned against the metal railing, her back turned to the void, her eyes fixed on the roof tiles. "Has the supervisor contacted you yet?" she added.

Luke turned his head towards Hannah, anxious. "Not yet," he said.

"You'll have to give him a complete report on the incident," she said.

Luke seemed thoughtful for a few moments, then suddenly, worry gave way to annoyance. "If he's so important, why is he so uninvolved? He sits in his car and talks to us like we're his minions!" Luke fumed.

Hannah placed her hand on Luke's shoulder. "You know why we’re here and why you follow orders. We agreed to this," she said calmly.

"I'm strong enough, I'm sure I can beat him," Luke said.

Hannah rolled her eyes and withdrew her hand from Luke's shoulder, looking annoyed.

"And? And, Lug? What's next? They'll send their best men after you. You’ll be hunted like an animal." Her voice trembled. Then she regained her composure and continued, "Let's finish what we have to do here, stopping a killer who's attacking innocent people. It's not a bad idea, is it?" she said with a much calmer tone.

Luke stared at her for a moment.

"It's their fault that this killer is here. They're no better than him," muttered Luke.

Suddenly, his pocket started vibrating. His body stiffened, and he swallowed. Luke knew who was trying to reach him. It took him a few seconds before he reached into his pocket to answer. He pressed the green button that had appeared on his screen and placed his phone against his ear.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Same place as usual, in 20 minutes," a cold and slightly robotic voice said.

Then nothing.

Luke hung up.

He looked at Hannah.

"It's him, in 20 minutes," he said.

Hannah also looked agitated. The tension was palpable.

"Okay, go ahead. I won't be far," she said.

[20 minutes later, in an alley near the university.]

A small dented car was parked near the curb. The car was painted orange that tended toward red. Its seats were brown, and a man was sitting in the driver's seat. The window was open, and he had a lit cigarette in his hand, leaning on the door.

The man had olive skin, a three-day beard, and slightly messy short hair. He wore a worn-out orange bomber jacket. A sign of particular attachment to this garment or simply negligence.

When he saw Luke approaching in the rearview mirror, he took a final drag from his cigarette before throwing it on the sidewalk.

Luke arrived in front of the worn-out door and stopped.

"I hate your capes. You really think you're more than you are. Do you feel special? Do you think you're special?" asked the man sitting in his seat, insistently.

Lug looked at him coldly. Then his eyes fell on a tattoo that the man had on the back of his hand, in the space between his thumb and index finger. A small black line separated into four other lines of equal size and shape, and each line was split into two other small lines, barely visible.

Luke had only seen this man twice before, and it was the first time he noticed this tattoo.

"Roots?" thought Lug.

The man in the orange bomber jacket understood the object of the young man's interest.

"You're very curious," he said.

Luke didn't say anything.

The man, visibly annoyed, had a slight smile on his lips, probably due to an idea he had just had.

"You know what that means?" The man asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No idea," replied Luke, shrugging.

"Of course, you're just an ignorant brat," the man said, pulling out a fresh cigarette from the front pocket of his jacket. He then began his explanation. "In our organization, there are rankings. The failures are level 5, they carry a single line, like this." He mimicked a line with his finger.

"Level 4s... They have two lines. They're not good for much; they can do a few useful things, but in combat they're not much different from a normal man. So, they mostly do handling and that kind of stuff."

The man took out a lighter from another pocket, lit his cigarette, and took a deep breath from the small tube he held between his index and middle finger. "Then it gets interesting. Level 3s, they carry three lines. There aren't that many of them; they form highly trained commando units. They've undergone mutations that make them fast, strong, and enduring. Well-trained war dogs."

He glanced at Luke before continuing. "You've been given a level around 3, not bad for a brat." He took another drag from his cigarette with a smug smile.

"Then there are the level 2s who carry four lines. The elite of the elite. Monsters. There are very few of them, but each one is worth an army." He gestured his tattooed hand towards Luke. "You get it a little better now? It's a damn honor for me to be here overseeing a kid like you."

Luke listened attentively, his eyes narrowed. "So, level 1s are much stronger than you if I follow this logic?" The corners of his mouth lifted into a sly grin.

The man scowled at hearing this. "Pfff, you don't know anything. Give me your report."

"A second-year girl hanged herself in the hallway of the second floor of the humanities building. No visible signs of aggression, or even that someone helped her. She left no note behind," Luke spoke as if reciting a text, his voice steady.

The supervisor continued to smoke, scratching a stain on his windshield. "The police?"

"They're questioning her friends, but they don't seem very smart," Luke explained, glancing at the building they were parked in front of.

"And the ghost? That's the only useful thing you know how to do, right? See the dead and talk to them. What a strange ability," the man said, exhaling a puff of smoke.

Luke paused for a moment, his face impassive. "The ghost was in shock, unresponsive and wandering the halls. Nothing to be gained."

"Not even good at doing the one thing you were given this mission for," The supervisor said, shaking his head.

He turned the key and started his car, which began to vibrate slightly. "Keep me posted if there's any news."

With those words, the man hit the road, his exhaust pipe emitting a black smoke that indicated the poor condition of his vehicle. As the car pulled away, Luke stared after it, his expression unreadable.