Damien barely slept that night. His apartment was bathed in the neon glow of the city, but the darkness inside felt alive, crawling into every corner of his mind. He had dealt with murderers before—psychopaths, crime syndicates, men who killed for sport—but The Specter was something else.
A phantom. A ghost. A name whispered but never confirmed.
And now, he was hunting Damien.
The envelope on his desk still taunted him. He ran a thumb over the paper, feeling the weight of the message. "Stop digging." That was a warning, but warnings only made him dig deeper.
At 4:00 AM, his phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
Damien hesitated for half a second before answering. “Blackwood.”
Silence. Then—
A deep, distorted voice:
"Turn around."
The line cut off.
Every nerve in his body went rigid.
Slowly, carefully, he reached for his gun and stood. His heart pounded, but his mind remained ice-cold. He turned toward the large window behind him—
And froze.
A man stood on the rooftop across the street. Dressed in black, face completely covered, he was barely visible against the night sky.
But Damien could feel it—the stare.
A sniper? A message?
Then, in one slow, deliberate motion, the figure raised his hand—
And gave him a small wave.
Not a threat. A taunt.
Then, he was gone.
Damien lunged for the window, eyes scanning the rooftops, but there was nothing. Whoever the man was, he had disappeared into the city like smoke.
His phone buzzed again. Another text from the unknown number.
"You're already dead. You just don't know it yet."
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8:00 AM – THE MORGUE
Dr. Evelyn Carter adjusted her glasses, flipping through the latest autopsy report. “You’re not gonna like this,” she muttered, sliding the folder toward Damien.
He skimmed through the report, and his stomach tightened.
Sophia Burns hadn’t been strangled.
No fractures. No signs of forced suffocation. No internal bleeding. But her lungs were completely collapsed.
“What the hell…” Damien whispered.
“We ran extra tests,” Evelyn continued, voice tight. “There was a chemical compound in her bloodstream—something we haven’t seen before. It wasn’t a toxin, and it wasn’t a drug.”
“What was it?”
She exhaled. “Something that removed the oxygen from her system. Completely. Like she was suffocating on nothing.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Damien’s grip on the folder tightened. This wasn’t just a murder. This was experimentation.
And someone had done it cleanly, without leaving a trace.
“The Specter,” he muttered under his breath.
Evelyn frowned. “What?”
Damien shut the folder. “Nothing.”
If this was The Specter’s work, then Sophia wasn’t just a victim. She was a message.
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10:00 AM – THE WITNESS
Helen Burns wasn’t safe. Damien knew that the moment he left her house last night. Someone had already been inside—and they could come back anytime.
He drove across the city, gripping the wheel tighter than he should. The streets of Eastgate were alive with noise, but his focus was razor-sharp.
When he reached the mansion, something felt off.
The front door was open.
Damien didn’t hesitate. Gun drawn, he stepped inside.
The house was silent.
“Helen?” His voice echoed through the dimly lit hallway.
No answer.
Then—
A faint creak from upstairs.
His instincts screamed at him.
Damien moved swiftly, boots silent against the wooden floor. The master bedroom door was slightly ajar, swinging gently, as if someone had just walked through.
He pushed it open.
His breath caught.
Helen Burns sat on the edge of the bed. Unmoving.
Her eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead.
Her hands were limp in her lap, fingers curled slightly as if she had been gripping something moments ago. But the worst part—
She wasn’t breathing.
Damien rushed forward, pressing two fingers to her neck. No pulse.
But there were no marks. No bruises, no wounds—just like Sophia.
Then, he saw it.
A small, white envelope, resting neatly on the nightstand beside her.
His blood turned to ice.
Slowly, he picked it up.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Just two words.
"Too late."
A shadow flickered in his peripheral vision.
Damien spun around, gun raised—
But there was no one there.
The room was empty.
Except for him.
And the corpse.
Damien stood frozen, the envelope clutched in his fingers.
"Too late."
The words burned into his mind like a brand. Helen Burns was gone—murdered under his nose—and the killer had left this message as a cruel reminder.
But something didn’t add up.
Helen had been alive just hours ago. He had checked the security footage, ensured the locks were secured. So how the hell had the killer gotten in?
His pulse hammered as he scanned the room. No signs of forced entry. No shattered windows. No overturned furniture.
Just a dead woman—and a killer who had vanished into thin air.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
He answered. “Blackwood.”
Silence.
Then, the same distorted voice as before.
“Tick tock, detective.”
The call ended.
Damien gritted his teeth. Whoever The Specter was, he was playing a game. A twisted, calculated game—and Damien was being led right into it.
But what bothered him most wasn’t the phone call.
It was the smell.
Faint. Chemical.
His instincts screamed at him. He turned toward the air vent near the ceiling. It was slightly ajar.
Rushing forward, he grabbed a chair, stood on it, and peered inside.
Something glinted in the darkness—a small, silver canister lodged deep inside the vent. A faint wisp of mist still clung to the metal.
Gas.
This wasn’t just a murder. It was execution by suffocation, delivered in a way that left no evidence behind.
No fingerprints. No marks. No struggle.
Whoever had killed Helen Burns had done it without ever stepping inside the room.
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11:00 AM – THE FORENSICS REPORT
Back at headquarters, Damien stormed into the forensics lab, slamming the canister onto the counter in front of Dr. Evelyn Carter.
“I need this analyzed. Now.”
Evelyn looked at the object, then back at Damien. “Where did you—”
“Helen Burns is dead.”
Her face paled. “What?”
“Same method as Sophia. No wounds. No forced entry. But I found this inside an air vent.” He pointed at the canister. “The Specter isn’t just killing people. He’s experimenting on them.”
Evelyn immediately grabbed gloves, snapping them on. “I’ll run a full analysis, but if you’re right, this isn’t just homicide. This is biological warfare.”
Damien exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. That’s what’s been bothering me.
These weren’t just random killings.
They were tests.
And that meant one thing—
There were more victims coming.
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12:30 PM – THE SURVEILLANCE FOOTAGE
Damien didn’t go home. He didn’t sleep.
Instead, he locked himself in the surveillance room at HQ, combing through hours of footage from the street near Helen Burns' house.
Fast-forward. Pause. Rewind. Repeat.
There had to be something.
Then, at 2:14 AM, he saw it.
A black SUV idled a few houses down from Helen’s mansion. Tinted windows. No plates.
It sat there for exactly six minutes.
Then, without any movement, it pulled away.
Damien’s pulse quickened. He rewound the footage, zooming in on the reflection from a nearby streetlamp. It was faint, but he could make out a symbol on the car’s side.
A serpent curled around a dagger.
He knew that insignia.
And it chilled him to his core.
This wasn’t just about The Specter anymore.
This was about something bigger.
Something much, much worse.