"Is he alive?" Petar's voice cut through the thick smoke. The stones of the parking lot crunched under his feet as red shadows from the flames flickered across the hotel roof. His heart raced, a wave of chills crawling down his spine.

The wind carried the stench of burnt wood and plastic. Every breath became an effort. It was as if his lungs were immersed in lead.

Darko followed him, covering his nose with a handkerchief. The smoke enveloped him like an evil shadow. His eyes suddenly watered. He fought back a cough, his gaze fixed on a red velvet chair in the middle of the parking lot, where a man's body sat motionless, wrapped tightly in a rough rope.

His head drooped, as if he were sleeping. His undershirt clung to his chest, dark stains spreading down his clothing, soaking the ground beneath him. Huge bare soles poked out from under the expensive pants. The fire reflected off the shaved head, creating eerie shimmering outlines.

Darko slowly moved closer, trying to ignore the repulsive smell, despite the handkerchief he held over his nose. He touched his neck; the skin was cold. He checked his pulse and turned to his partner: "As alive as a statue."

A rolled-up piece of paper stuck out of the dead man's mouth, like a Cuban cigar. Darko carefully extended his hand and slowly pulled it out. His heart raced as he opened the paper, which revealed a picture of red children's shoes.

Petar moved closer, his lips pressed together as he held his breath, avoiding the thick smoke that surrounded them more and more. He leaned forward, peering over Dark's hand to get a better look at the painting. When his eyes fell on the red shoes, he sighed deeply, feeling the weight of what he saw.

"What the hell happened here?" - Petar muttered, upset. His eyes opened wide and his jaw tightened. "Who could do something like this?"

"Obviously there is a waiting list," answered Darko, gritting his teeth. „To be honest, I'm shocked that this didn't happen earlier.“

Petar suddenly fell silent at that, with a sickening feeling in his stomach. He was looking at Darko's serious face, trying to see under the mask. His voice trembled as he wondered, "How can you be so calm?"

Suddenly, the loud sound of breaking glass brought them back to reality.

As the fire grew, it threatened to consume everything in its path as it spread to the hotel's front.

"Damn it," muttered Darko, looking back at the hotel, his eyes narrowed by the smoke. "The fire is spreading fast. Call for backup and have them send more firefighters. Urgently!"

"Dispatcher, we have a confirmed case of death at the scene of the accident," Petar said on the police radio. "We are looking for urgent support and additional help in extinguishing the fire. The hotel is completely engulfed."

Darko knelt next to the chair, his eyes searching the body, analyzing every detail.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“He didn’t seem to resist,” he murmured, his tone icy and detached. As the smoke thickened, making it hard to breathe, he narrowed his eyes but remained focused on the scene before him.

"No signs of a struggle," he added, looking down at the lifeless body.

"Ego cost him his head," Petar added, searching the area around the chair. Thick smoke obscured his vision more and more, increasing his nervousness and uncertainty in this chaos. "He didn't believe anyone would dare touch him." He nodded his head at the victim, not hiding his disgust. "The big tycoon."

Before Darko could answer, a terrifying bang echoed from the hotel, followed by a shower of sparks as part of the roof collapsed inwards. He felt the heat on his back as a warning that it was time to escape.

“Don’t touch anything!” Darko shouted. “We need to secure the scene.” He turned his attention back to the lifeless tycoon. “We have to collect all the evidence—anything that could help us. This is no ordinary murder.”

They retreated a few steps and fixed their gaze on the hotel in front of them, a scene that felt like the worst nightmare coming to life. Menacing shadows danced as the flames lit up the darkened sky.

Fear and worry squeezed Petar's chest, sending shivers down his spine. Amid the turmoil, anger rose up inside him like a scorching wave that threatened to overflow.

'We're far from finished here,' Petar groaned.

"True", answered Darko gloomily. “This is just the beginning. This chaos could lead us to some intriguing answers—maybe even a new client for the morgue.”

They turned to the villa beside the hotel, where the owner's quarters were. The door swung in the wind, revealing an interior bathed in the flickering blue light of the television. The noise from the device tore through the night like a blade.

"Be careful," Darko muttered as they slowly approached the entrance, feeling the heat of the burning hotel following them like a shadow. They went inside and the dim light revealed a living room with elegant white furniture. Deep inside, the kitchen was a mess, and the smell of frying oil choked the air, creating discomfort.

Someone sat on the sofa, their back to them. They looked at each other uneasily, feeling a chill creep through the air.

"Hello, can you hear me?" In the eerie silence, Darko's words resounded. "Can you turn the TV down?"

They took their pistols out of their holsters and walked slowly around to the sofa, each on the opposite side. Both of them relied on instincts refined by years of police service.

Petar's voice was anxious. "Darko, be careful," he cautioned.

They slowly walked around the sofa, simultaneously shivering at the sight before them. In the middle of the sofa sat Anica, the wife of the hotel owner, and her elegant yellow dress was stained with dark drops of blood, creating a terrible contrast to her former beauty.

Her face was a mask of horror, the liveliness of her once-beauty-queen features completely obliterated. But what took their breath away were her eye sockets – empty and lifeless. Someone dug out her eyes and left them under the TV.

In a desperate attempt to combat her dread, she held her palms up to her face. The room smelled like death, and the heat from the fire outside made the bloody and hopeless smell even worse. The sound of laughing from the screen filled the room among the devastation, a sinister mockery of the misery all around them.

Darko stared at the TV as glued with a knot in his stomach.

"Grainy footage looped of the hotel owner's son, young Marko, pedaling a small blue bike in the hotel parking lot. Laughter echoed, carefree, as his father's voice encouraged, 'You got this, son! Keep pedaling!'

The contrast was unbearable. Darko felt bile rise as the children’s laughter clashed with the grotesque reality. Petar went pale, his voice barely a whisper. 'This is a message...someone wanted them to suffer.'

The television continuously played cruel images, while children's laughter echoed in the maddened world. The flames outside danced, casting eerie shadows on the walls, and the darkness pressed around them like a cold, invisible grip. The hunters were turning into the hunted, and the night was just beginning.

Dark's jaw clenched tightly, fighting the rising tide of anger and frustration. “More than that. This is revenge.”