Chapter 4: The Hidden Obsession
Martin opened his laptop, his eyes quickly darting between the bold headlines on the Google News homepage. His fingers moved deftly across the keyboard, almost as if he were taking down important notes. He was eagerly searching for the latest news related to crimes; this habit had become an integral part of his daily routine, as though it fulfilled some hidden obsession or perhaps served as a way for his mind to escape the dullness of his everyday life. Martin was keenly aware that the world of crime was filled with secrets and intriguing events that far surpassed ordinary life, which was precisely what drew him to such news.
*Latest News:*
- "Killed by a Toxic Substance... Bodies of 6 Foreigners Found in a Hotel in Bangkok."
- "Details Revealed About the Murder of an Israeli Businessman in Alexandria."
- "Philippines: Congressman Arrested on Charges of Orchestrating Killings."
Martin contemplated the headlines for a few moments, thinking deeply about the content of each story. His eyes scanned the headlines quickly, but he would pause at each one to read the details carefully, imagining how each crime occurred and who might have been the mastermind behind it. It was as if his imagination transported him to the crime scenes, analyzing clues and following investigative threads, driven by an inner passion to unravel the mysteries surrounding these crimes.
After a moment of reflection, he muttered to himself, his voice low and tinged with anxiety, "Hmm... let's give it a try... I wonder if capturing an image of a person from the computer screen would work..."
The signs of tension were clearly etched on his face. His lips were tightly pressed together as he scrutinized the information on the screen, and his hands trembled slightly as he moved the mouse. He finally made up his mind, speaking a bit louder this time: "Alright, let's start with the Filipino congressman. At least this won't pose any danger."
He reasoned that news of the congressman's death would quickly spread, and the outcome would be easy to verify. No one would suspect him, no matter how hard they tried to trace the cause.
Martin opened a strange application on his phone, an app that was not available on any official store. He began inputting the primary details of the target. He typed the name "Arnolo Weavis" and then aimed his phone's camera at the image of the Filipino congressman displayed on his computer screen. He captured the image effortlessly, and in that instant, a new window popped up on the app screen:
*"Ding, please enter the method of death and the time of death. Note: The maximum allowable duration is 5 minutes."*
A sharp pang of fear gripped Martin's chest, but his curiosity got the better of his caution. He took a deep breath and typed: "Method of death: suicide." He then pressed the button to activate the command.
The loading icon began to spin before his eyes, and his heartbeat accelerated, pounding like a drum in his ears. His breathing quickened, as if every cell in his body was on high alert. Suddenly, the familiar sound came from his phone: *"Ding, soul capture failed. Ding, soul capture failed..."*
Martin's eyes flew open in shock, as if a sudden blow had struck his soul. He struggled to comprehend what had happened, slowly drawing air into his lungs before whispering to himself, "Could it be... does the photo need to be real?"
He quickly closed his phone, his heart still racing uncontrollably. Leaving the rooftop, he returned to his expansive home, his mind swirling with everything that had happened throughout the day, like an endless vortex. He reached the bedroom with slow, heavy steps, as though carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He paused at the doorway, gazing at Emily, who was sound asleep, her face exuding a tranquility and serenity that he had long missed.
Stolen novel; please report.
He approached her quietly, hesitating at first but then feeling an overwhelming need to hold her. Her scent, a mix of perfume and jasmine, provided him with a fleeting sense of comfort, like an oasis of safety amidst the desert of anxiety he was living in. Emily had called him multiple times due to his lateness, but he had opted to send her a brief message asking her to go to bed, claiming that an urgent work matter had delayed him on his way back.
Emily stirred awake slightly at the movement of the bed, opening her eyes slowly and sleepily whispering, "You idiot, you ruined our night again... Is everything alright?"
Martin looked at her with weary eyes but managed a gentle smile, replying, "Yes, no need to worry. It's just that an old friend had some issues and needed my help. I'm really exhausted; let's try to sleep now, my love."
They both closed their eyes, seeking solace in each other's embrace. Those brief moments were enough for them to drift into a deep sleep, as if escaping a reality filled with enigmas into a world of dreams, where nothing pursued them except the silence of the night.
---
*Martin's Villa, California*
11 A.M., just before noon
Martin woke up from his sleep, feeling an immense fatigue, as if his body had carried the burdens of the world the previous night. He slowly opened his eyes and tried to gather his scattered thoughts, when the sound of cooking from the kitchen caught his attention. He recalled the events of the previous night, as if they were a strange dream, perhaps even a nightmare. If not for his bandaged fingers as evidence of what had transpired, he would not have believed the bizarre incident he had experienced. As for the old Russian man's body, Martin was certain that no one would discover it until it had deteriorated beyond recognition, especially after the rats had made a meal of it.
He got out of bed with difficulty and made his way to the kitchen, where he found his girlfriend Emily busy preparing breakfast. She was cooking eggs and Wagyu steak slices, Martin's favorite morning dish.
"You finally woke up!" Emily said, her voice a blend of concern and relief. "What happened to your fingers? You scared me to death when I saw them this morning..."
Martin offered a reassuring smile, trying to calm her down. "Oh, there's no need to worry. It's just some side effects from carrying some heavy things. I already told you, no need to worry."
Emily rolled her eyes, clearly unconvinced by his explanation. "Hmmph, fine. Don't tell me if you don't want to; I'm not interested." Then she added after a moment, "My mom called; I have to go back home today because she has a cold. Lunch is on the table. Promise me you'll take care of yourself and not get into any trouble, okay?"
Martin responded warmly, "Alright, thank you, Emily. Take care of yourself and remember to drive carefully." He saw Emily off to the garage and then returned to the kitchen to finish his breakfast at a leisurely pace.
Today was his last day before his long-awaited vacation, but he knew he would be compelled to return to his office at the company tomorrow to handle urgent matters.
Martin owned "Trade Horizon," an investment company he had founded with the help of his father, one of the most renowned congressmen in California and a prominent member of the Republican Party. Thanks to his father's financial and political support, Martin had quickly established his position in the financial market, becoming one of the most notable young entrepreneurs in America and the world, with a fortune estimated at over $900 million, even though he was not yet twenty-nine years old.
Thanks to those secret dossiers that fell into his hands, Martin managed to uncover the dirty manipulations conducted by the big players in the financial market. He witnessed how the sharks in the stock exchange manipulated the system to wipe out the capital of small and medium-sized traders. He also discovered the extent of political corruption and how the powerful forces were never hesitant to use their influence to eliminate fair competition and spread corruption for their own gain.
Over time, a feeling of deep disgust grew within Martin toward all these behaviors. He saw how they were beginning to erode human values, spread moral decay, and attempt to undermine the original conservative American identity.
After finishing his breakfast, Martin got up from the table and put on his jacket. He decided to go out for a short walk to clear his mind. He felt an urgent need to get away from everything, even if only for a few hours, to contemplate his next steps and search for a new approach to handle his complicated life, which had become like a never-ending labyrinth.