'Click...Click...Click'
The sound of cameras snapping echoed as Police Line Do Not Cross tape cordoned off the crime scene.
A group of reporters surrounded the crime scene and questioned the authorities.
"Is it true that the previous murder and this one were committed by the same perpetrator?" one reporter pressed, eager for answers.
"This marks the second murder in as many weeks. Do the authorities have any suspects in mind?" another inquired, their voice edged with urgency.
"What steps is the police department taking to address these crimes?" a third reporter chimed in, their tone insistent.
Facing the barrage of questions, the chief superintendent of police remained composed. "We are currently in the midst of our investigation. As of now, there are no specific suspects, but both victims were known local criminals involved in minor offences. It's possible this could be a feud between rival gangs," he explained calmly.
"But there have been reports of a poker card with a spade symbol found at both crime scenes. Could this indicate a serial killer at work?" a reporter pressed further.
The chief's brow furrowed in irritation. "There is no basis for such speculation. I urge you not to spread unfounded rumours," he warned sternly before abruptly departing.
In his office, the chief's frustration boiled over as he slammed his hands on the table. "What on earth are you still doing, and how did the press get wind of the spade detail? Didn't I explicitly warn against any leaks!" he bellowed, veins pulsing on his forehead as he glared at his officers, who hung their heads in shame.
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Just then, a young officer burst into the room, holding a file. Saluting the chief, he reported, "Chief, as with the previous case, we found only a single spade card at the scene. No fingerprints, no evidence of any other weapon. Even the witnesses couldn't provide any leads."
With a heavy sigh, the chief leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. After a moment, he commanded, "Summon Squad 13 for an emergency meeting," before storming out of the room.
As murmurs rippled through the group of officers, among them one young and new officer piped up in astonishment, "Squad 13? Wasn't it disbanded years ago?"
"Dissolved? Nonsense! Watch your words, lest the chief hear your foolishness," snapped a senior lieutenant, quelling any further discussion.
Apologizing sheepishly, the officer persisted, "But aren't the rumors about Squad 13 true?"
The senior lieutenant fixed him with a steely glare. "Are you daft? Do you think Squad 13 is at your beck and call like a common servant? They are elite, and they intervene only when absolutely necessary," he rebuked sharply.
The young man only blinked his eyes at him not understanding a thing
Meanwhile, far from the heart of Worcester city, a big mansion was highly guarded by the men in black, their senses high as a radar, ready to shoot even if a fly trespassed.
'Bam...Bam...Bam...' reverberated the rhythmic sound of fists meeting a punching bag within the mansion's gym. His tanned muscles flexed, and his veins bulged every time he hit the bag. Sweat trickles its way down to his well toned packs and into his low waist boxer pants. His forest green eyes appear as sharp as those of an eagle, ready to catch its prey and feast on it.
"6:30 a.m.," a robotic voice intoned from his watch. He ceased his assault on the bag, removing his wrist strap and gloves before wiping away the sweat that adorned his sculpted physique.
He gulped the bottle of water as his Adam's apple moved up and down smoothly.
A knock at the door interrupted his routine, prompting a furrow of his brow. As the butler entered, a sense of foreboding filled the room.
"What has he done this time?" he demanded, his voice tinged with dark apprehension.
The butler, visibly shaken, stuttered out a response. "Y-Young master... is gone"