George Stacey stood in front of a rundown house.

The building before him was in terrible disrepair, with broken shutters and walls overtaken by vines that had been growing for decades. The dense growth nearly tore the walls apart.

Even in the neglected borough of Brooklyn, houses this dilapidated were rare.

A cold wind swept through, scattering fallen leaves across the porch, causing the tangled wind chimes to rattle haphazardly.

"Is this where Frank Gleeson lives?" George asked the officer beside him.

"Yes, sir," the officer replied.

Three days had passed since Josh Robber's murder.

The New York Police Department began investigating people connected to the victim: his parents, friends, and anyone he had conflicts with. Frank Gleeson, a student who had been bullied by Josh, had not attended school for two days. George had come to his home to investigate.

The officer rang the doorbell, but there was no response.

George waited, but the house remained silent.

Peering through the window, he saw neatly arranged furniture covered in a light layer of dust, suggesting the place had been vacant for some time.

George tried the door, but it wouldn't budge.

He contacted the landlord, who owned the property, and soon they had access to the house.

Once inside, a strange odor hit them.

The smell was a mix of mold and decay, reminiscent of a corpse that had been decomposing for a while. Though hard to define, it was a smell George recognized all too well.

A sense of foreboding filled him. His muscles tensed, and his expression turned grim.

After briefly searching the living room and finding nothing, George recalled what he knew about the family.

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Jon Gleeson lived here with his son, Frank. Jon had a troubled past and was involved with the criminal gang known as The Hand. His ex-wife, Maggie, had divorced him six months ago.

"It seems like no matter what case I work on, I end up dealing with The Hand," George muttered, frustrated.

He found nothing on the first floor, so he headed upstairs. As he ascended the stairs, the foul odor intensified.

Calling for the other officers to join him, George followed the stench to its source.

They entered a room sealed off by heavy curtains. The rancid smell inside was so overpowering that it nearly made them gag.

The room was filled with glass cases containing motionless spiders.

"South American tarantula, Mexican redknee, rose hair," George quickly identified the species.

He never imagined anyone would keep so many pet spiders, but all of them were dead.

Looking past the spiders, George's eyes fell on a shadowy figure behind a curtain.

Drawing his gun, he motioned for the officers to be on alert.

Cautiously, George approached the curtain, gun raised, and signaled for an officer to pull it aside.

With a sudden tug, the curtain fell, revealing a black figure that collapsed toward the officer, startling him.

The figure hit the ground with a thud.

George and the officers recoiled when they realized what it was: a silk cocoon, identical to the one found in the Midtown High School storage room.

"Damn it!" George cursed as he holstered his gun.

He ordered the cocoon to be cut open, and inside they found a grotesque sight: the corpse of Jon Gleeson, his face a sickly blue.

Jon's death mirrored the earlier murder, with the body grotesquely wrapped in silk.

George, now suspecting Frank Gleeson, ordered, "Get the forensic team over here immediately, and put out an APB on Frank Gleeson."

Frank was now the prime suspect. The brutality of the crime was shocking, but George had seen enough evil in his career to always expect the worst.

As he walked out of the room, George caught sight of something on a desk.

It was a photograph—of his daughter, Gwen.

George's stomach churned. Frank had collected pictures of Gwen, clearly planning something.

"Damn it! Damn it!" George muttered as he quickly dialed Gwen's number.

At Midtown High School, the delayed football game was finally being held.

The playground was packed with students who had seemingly moved on from Josh's death, excited for the event.

The game hadn't started yet, but the crowd was already loud, with cheers and laughter filling the night air.

Fireworks exploded overhead, and cheerleaders performed in front of the crowd, eliciting more shouts and whistles.

Gwen sat in the bleachers, scanning the crowd for Peter but couldn't find him. A wave of disappointment washed over her.

Her phone, set to silent, lit up in her pocket. It was a call from her father, George Stacey. But with all the noise around her, she didn't notice it ringing.

Meanwhile, at the entrance of the playground, Frank Gleeson, the manhunt target, quietly walked in, his cold eyes scanning the field as he approached the event.