I

  “Commander, are you in there?” I called, knocking on the office door at the station.

  For a long moment, there was no response. I stood there, waiting, until finally a tired voice answered from inside.

  “You can come in.”

  When I stepped into the room, I barely recognized Morgan. In just a few days he looked like a different man — exhausted, weighed down, nothing like his usual composed self. I took a seat across from him.

  “Having trouble solving the case?”

  “You seem to be having trouble too,” he sighed. “Why are you here?”

  “We still have a job, don’t we?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to get your hands dirty anymore.”

  “That depends on what you’re about to tell me,” I replied. “If I’m supposed to sit here and comfort you, no offense, but I’ve got better things to do. So talk.”

  That seemed to wake him up a little. He leaned down, rummaged through a cabinet, and after a moment dumped a stack of documents onto the desk. He sifted through them before handing me a selected file, tapping a photograph clipped to the front.

  “These are the only traces left. The victim. Or what’s left of her.”

  “That’s it?” I asked, genuinely surprised. “No recordings? No witnesses? Nothing? This happened in the city center.”

  “Exactly,” he replied. “The cameras went down because of a power outage right when it happened. And there were no witnesses. In that kind of chaos? Who would’ve seen anything?”

  I fell silent.

  It was too perfect.

  The power failed at the exact right moment.

  The chaos aligned flawlessly with the killer’s needs.

  And then there was the corporation — unusually aggressive, even by their standards.

  The only logical conclusion was that someone higher up was involved. Government-level, most likely. But we already knew that from the previous murder. And still — what would the government gain from destabilizing everything this much?

  “Did he leave anything besides the head?” I finally asked.

  “A three. And a circle,” Morgan answered. “That’s it.”

  “A three…” I muttered, choosing to ignore the circle for now — nothing about it clicked. “You think he’s counting his victims?”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “That’s the only idea I’ve got,” Morgan said tiredly. “But that would mean we missed victim number one. And everything about this feels like he wants us involved.”

  He was right. The theory made sense — just not here. This case was too strange for something so simple.

  “Did the victims have anything in common?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Not like that. Similarities. Behavior, status… something.”

  Morgan hummed thoughtfully. “Well… both were important.”

  “And both were unpopular,” I added. “So following that pattern, the next victim would be someone well-known. And disliked.”

  Silence again. The pool of possibilities was enormous.

  After flipping through another stack of papers, Morgan pulled out twelve sheets and handed them to me.

  “Profiles of the current representatives in Sector 3,” he said, pointing to the names. “Still too many for us to properly protect.”

  I skimmed through them. Seven were corporate executives — practically untouchable. The remaining five were more interesting.

  One, in particular, caught my attention.

  “I think I’ve got something,” I said quietly.

  II

  The next day, instead of heading to the station, I went toward the city center.

  There were protesters everywhere. That part wasn’t unusual — protests were daily routine by now. What stood out was the atmosphere around them. Every side of the gathering was surrounded by heavily armed corporate units.

  It felt like a matter of time before the first shot was fired.

  Minutes.

  Maybe weeks.

  Hard to tell.

  I ignored it all and entered the church I had visited before. I sat in one of the back rows.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Morgan’s voice came through the earpiece.

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” I sighed. “Besides, no matter how pissed I am at you, we need to clean this mess up fast. And whoever arranged that shooting will show up here eventually. No way I let him walk.”

  Morgan chuckled softly.

  “I’ll be nearby with the team. Just in case.”

  After the call ended, I checked my weapon placement — making sure I could draw quickly if needed.

  The lights dimmed. The pedestal where the priest stood became the only clearly illuminated point in the hall.

  The mass itself wasn’t interesting. It was almost identical to the one I had attended with Davies — just longer.

  After the sermon ended and the faithful dispersed, I left with them. But I wasn’t done.

  An hour later, I returned. Sat in the back again. A little closer this time.

  I repeated this several times.

  Every mass felt the same. Draining. Predictable.

  The only thing that changed was the moonlight filtering through a stained-glass window above the priest — the same window the MP had once been fascinated by.

  Strange he never used that effect, I thought. If he did, more people would listen — no matter what nonsense he preached.

  III

  After the final sermon, as I was heading for the exit, an unexpected voice stopped me.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  I turned. The priest — the same one I had met with Davies.

  “To be honest, I didn’t expect to see myself here either,” I said. “But the place intrigued me.”

  “Oh? And what exactly?”

  “The building,” I replied plainly.

  “Just that?”

  “I also wanted to properly hear your sermons. We talked before, but briefly. I figured I shouldn’t judge too quickly without listening more carefully.”

  The priest suddenly became unusually warm and proud, as if he had forgotten everything that happened before. He nodded repeatedly, then patted me on the shoulder.

  “I misjudged you, young man,” he said with a sincere smile. “Maybe you’ll turn out alright after all.”

  Taking advantage of the shift in tone, I continued.

  “Father, aren’t you tired?” I asked. “I’ve seen you at the pedestal all day. I respect your dedication, but aren’t you overworking yourself?”

  “You’re right. Poor me,” he sighed dramatically — though the artificial tone was obvious. “But someone has to do it. I’m alone now, after all.”

  Alone?

  That’s good, I thought. Maybe we were right after all.

  He patted my back once more.

  “Run along, son. I hope I see you here tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  I left the church quickly and headed down one of the side streets leading away from the center. After a while, I found a quiet place to sit.

  I activated the earpiece.

  “Now we wait.”