Chapter 23

The dim light of Sylvia’s desk lamp flickered as she rubbed her tired eyes, the weight of the late hour pressing down on her. Her apartment was silent, save for the soft hum of her computer and the occasional meow from Jason Meowmoa, who seemed increasingly annoyed by her lack of attention. Papers were scattered across the table—Zorro’s latest vigilante strikes, reports of missing kids, and the sparse details she had gathered on the Puppet Master’s global crimes. Sylvia leaned forward, staring at her screen as if the answers might reveal themselves if she just focused hard enough.

Sylvia clicked through the Pentagon report again, the redacted lines mocking her with their stark blacked-out secrets. The report had been filed during World War III, a time of chaos and atrocities, but this one stood out. The killings it described were brutal, staged in ways that echoed the Puppet Master’s known methods. Yet every crucial detail—names, locations, dates—was hidden. “What are they hiding?” she muttered, her frustration rising. Jason yowled in response, batting at a stray paper as if in agreement.

Sylvia clicked through her notes, trying to make sense of the chaos. Zorro had been active, taking down corrupt LAPD officers and Quechua gang leaders, and whenever possible, he managed to save the kids caught in their webs. But the disappearances continued. Each new report felt like a punch to the gut—another name, another child lost. She had no reason to believe the Puppet Master was tied to the missing kids, yet his recent killings seemed like a twisted game, a taunt aimed squarely at Zorro. But why? What was the connection?

She sighed, scrolling past the familiar files until she reached the redacted Pentagon report from World War III. This was where it all began, or at least, the earliest trace of the Puppet Master's work. The details were scarce, black lines obscuring most of the text, but the glimpses of brutality—carefully staged murders, symbolic messages left behind—mirrored his current M.O. Sylvia had spent countless nights trying to pry more information from the report, but it was a dead end. "They knew something back then," she muttered to herself. "But what are they still hiding?" Jason meowed, pawing at her leg as if sensing her frustration.

Sylvia leaned back, staring at the screen, her mind drifting back to the Brazil massacre. It stood out because it was unmistakably the Puppet Master’s work—the brutal staging, the precision in the killing. But that was also around the time a new cartel had risen to power in South America, ruthlessly pushing out every other organized crime syndicate. The chaos that followed had left a trail of blood across the continent, making it nearly impossible to separate the Puppet Master’s murders from the countless other atrocities. Too many brutal crimes, too many shifting powers. It was hard to know where one ended and another began.

Sylvia exhaled slowly, her fingers tapping absentmindedly on the keyboard. The deeper she dove into these reports, the more the lines blurred. The Puppet Master’s signature was clear to her, but without solid proof, all she had were suspicions. Between the cartel violence and the government redactions, any real pattern was buried under layers of chaos and secrecy. The Pentagon report from World War III still haunted her. It hinted at something larger—something that had started long before Zorro ever donned his mask. But without more information, it was like chasing shadows.

Jason let out a low, insistent meow, snapping Sylvia out of her thoughts. She glanced over at him, his green eyes locked on hers, as if urging her to take a break. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. But her mind was still racing. The redacted report gnawed at her. It was the first documented case that even remotely resembled the Puppet Master’s theatrics, but the details were so blacked out, it was practically useless. Whatever the government knew, they were keeping it buried deep. Too deep for her to reach, at least for now.

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Sylvia clicked the "Go Live" button and watched as the chat immediately started to populate with familiar usernames. She adjusted the microphone, leaning in closer. "Alright, welcome back, everyone. Tonight, we’re diving into the mess that’s been brewing in our city. Zorro’s been making waves—taking down corrupt cops, gang leaders from Quechua, and, wherever he can, rescuing kids who seem to be slipping through the cracks. He’s done more for those kids than the system ever could. But here’s the thing… Zorro’s not the only one making moves." She paused, noticing a comment. "Yeah, ‘vigilante with a heart of gold,’ I saw that. It fits, but don’t be so quick to paint him a hero just yet."

Sylvia leaned in, her voice lowering slightly. "But then we’ve got the Puppet Master, and that’s where things get twisted. His killings? They’re not random. Each one is staged, methodical, like he’s leaving a message. But here’s the question: who’s the message for? And what’s he trying to say?" She glanced at the chat, catching a few people asking if Zorro was going after the Puppet Master directly. "Yeah, I see you. You’re wondering if Zorro’s hunting him, but as far as I can tell, Zorro isn’t even aware he’s part of this game. The Puppet Master’s been out here taunting him from the shadows, or maybe just taunting all of us."

Sylvia shifted slightly in her chair, eyes narrowing as she prepared to dive deeper. "Here’s where it gets even murkier. The Puppet Master’s methods—they didn’t start here. I’ve found traces of his work in other places, places most of us aren’t paying attention to. South America, for one. There was a massacre in Brazil a few years ago that stands out—a family murdered, and it was staged just like his signature here. Brutal, precise, and… theatrical. There was a line in the report, something about a group called Inari no Kodomotachi, some Yakuza subsect. But that’s where the trail goes cold. Too many other violent groups were active at the time, and the whole region was a mess, so no one connected the dots."

Sylvia glanced at the clock on her screen, realizing she’d been live for almost an hour. Time had slipped by as she navigated the flood of comments. The chat had exploded with theories—some insightful, others downright wild. She’d already fielded a bunch of questions about Zorro’s methods and whether the Puppet Master was working alone or with some twisted crew. The conversation had been back and forth, her listeners tossing out ideas as she sifted through the chaos. One viewer had even mentioned something about the Puppet Master’s killings feeling almost ritualistic. Sylvia paused at that. "Ritualistic, huh?" she said, leaning closer to the mic. "There might be something there… it’s not just violence for violence’s sake. These scenes are crafted." She scrolled through the chat, watching it roll by, and smiled. "You guys always keep me on my toes. This isn’t just a random spree—there’s something bigger going on here, but I’m still missing the piece that ties it all together."

Sylvia took a deep breath, letting the weight of her words settle over the stream. "And that’s where we’re stuck for now," she said, her tone quieter, more thoughtful. "Zorro’s out there, focused on cleaning up the city—taking down corrupt cops, breaking Quechua operations, and saving kids along the way. But the Puppet Master… he’s playing a different game, and I don’t think Zorro even realizes it yet. It feels like the two are on a collision course, but the pieces just don’t fit together. Not yet, anyway." She glanced at Jason, who was now sprawled out beside her, and smiled softly. "Alright, folks, I think we’ll wrap it up here tonight. Stay sharp out there, and as always, keep digging. We’ll figure this out. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll catch up to the Puppet Master before Zorro does.

Sylvia ended the stream with a click, the quiet hum of her apartment settling in around her. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples as Jason stretched and let out a contented meow. "Good job, buddy," she muttered, reaching over to give him a scratch behind the ears. Her mind, however, was still spinning with fragments of the conversation. The Puppet Master, Zorro, the Inari no Kodomotachi—it all felt connected somehow, even if she couldn’t see the full picture yet. For now, though, the exhaustion was starting to set in. Tomorrow would bring more questions, more leads to chase, but tonight, she let herself sink into the silence, knowing the puzzle was far from solved.

Sylvia changed into her comfiest pajamas, the kind that felt like a warm hug after a long day. Jason curled up at the foot of the bed as she slid under the covers, pulling her laptop onto her lap. She clicked through a few options before settling on something familiar—Disney’s Pinocchio. The rain outside had started up again, a soft pattering against the window that almost matched the nostalgic opening notes of the movie. As the scene flickered across the screen, Pinocchio’s voice sang out, "I've got no strings to hold me down..." Sylvia closed her eyes, letting herself drift with the sound of the rain and the old melody. The mysteries could wait. For now, she allowed herself a rare moment of peace.