The dimly lit basement.
Beside the shaft opening.
Staring at the body snapped in two, Beck held his phone, his face dark.
He knew that if this supposed breakthrough was now severed, the entire investigation would be back to square one.
"Set up a cordon and seal off the area."
"Look for anything suspicious—use every means we have and find out exactly how he died!"
"..."
Beck directed the nearby officers to secure the scene, then returned, his expression turning grimmer.
He suddenly realized the murder case was becoming more baffling by the minute.
Meanwhile.
Receiving the message, Jeffrey also frowned and glanced at the security guards Adolf and Ronald beside him, suspicion in his eyes.
"Can you tell me what the maintenance man was doing before this?"
"Certainly, Officer."
Adolf and Ronald exchanged a look.
Although puzzled, the two nodded obediently and recounted their contact with the repairman Gene, the steps he'd said he would follow, and what he planned to do.
As Jeffrey listened, his face betrayed nothing, yet his heart sank further.
From what the guards described, the repairman had been methodical, checking each step in order all the way to the basement—nothing that raised red flags.
Then why was he dead?
Jeffrey couldn't figure it out. He turned back to the monitor; the four survivors in the elevator were still keeping to opposite corners, each on guard against the others.
He knew the case could only move forward once the background checks from headquarters arrived.
"Officer, um… what happened to Gene?"
Adolf, the head guard, always knew how to steer clear of trouble—an old hand at workplace politics—while only Ronald sensed something had happened to the repairman. He looked at the calm Jeffrey and spoke earnestly.
"Officer, please believe me, Gene can't be the killer. He's worked diligently for years and still has..."
Ronald was cut short when Adolf pulled him back.
"Ronald, don't interfere with the officer's investigation."
Jeffrey gave them a sidelong glance, then continued watching the monitor calmly.
"Your word alone doesn't count, but I can tell you this: the repairman Gene is dead—found in the shaft down in the basement."
Both Adolf and Ronald froze.
Ronald blurted in disbelief, "What? Gene—how could Gene be dead? Just now he said he was going to check the roof!"
Jeffrey's gaze was level. "I know it's hard to accept, but unfortunately it's the truth."
With that, Jeffrey looked at the last officer on standby.
"Call the fire brigade."
"Yes, sir."
The officer hurried off. Moments later Beck strode in, irritated, and stood beside Jeffrey.
"Mate, this lead's snapped."
Jeffrey kept his eyes on the monitor.
"We wait for word from headquarters."
Beck glanced at the two guards, still stunned and apparently unable to process the repairman's death, and merely shrugged.
But the situation wasn't static: Jeffrey suddenly noticed the elevator lights flickering faster than before.
The abrupt change made everyone inside look up, uneasy.
"Now what!" Vic in the gray suit exclaimed nervously.
"It's not going out again, is it?"
Abigail cursed. "Shut up!"
Relf the black man looked at Max in plain clothes.
"I've a suggestion—how about we hold each other's hands?"
Max looked puzzled.
Relf went on. "Right now the two of us are the most suspicious. If either is the killer, the other can stop him."
He swept his gaze over Abigail and Vic, then continued.
"If neither of us is the murderer, our combined strength can guard against a sneak attack, and it'll help the officers upstairs judge the situation. What do you think?"
Max considered it carefully. He wasn't the killer, and the plan benefited him; if Relf was, this was better than waiting helplessly in the dark for a stab in the back.
"All right."
At the reply Relf extended both hands invitingly.
"Let's do it."
Max understood. He stepped forward and clasped Relf's hands, the two now mutually restraining each other.
Jeffrey, watching intently, grasped their intent at once: if one of them was the murderer, he wouldn't dare kill again without exposing himself.
If the two prime suspects weren't killers, then any further death would point to whoever remained.
As Jeffrey reasoned this out, an officer reported.
"Officer Jeffrey, the fire crew's here."
Jeffrey nodded, then looked at Beck.
"How about you handle it? I'll keep watch here."
"Sure, thinking isn't my thing. Good luck." Beck clapped Jeffrey's shoulder and left with the officer.
Once Beck was gone Jeffrey turned back to the monitor. The lights flickered more violently, the darkness lasting longer. To steady the occupants he keyed the intercom.
"The fire brigade's here. You'll be out soon—just hang on."
His voice echoed in the car; the four passengers exchanged glances and breathed easier, especially Vic in the gray suit, who rose from his crouch in the corner.
"Finally. Let's hope the lights stay on."
Even as Vic spoke, a loud pop plunged everything into darkness.
As if mocking him, the elevator lights went out.
"Ahhh!!!"
"NO!!!"
"..."
Clatters and bangs erupted inside the car, but the monitor showed only blackness. Jeffrey frowned and pressed the intercom again.
"Everyone stay calm, hold your positions. If you're attacked, shout for help and work together!"
Within seconds the lights flared back to normal—yet the scene inside had changed once more.
"My God..."
Ronald and Adolf, now recovered, clapped hands over their mouths at the screen.
Even Jeffrey instinctively sucked in a breath.
Inside the elevator, two more people were dead.
Vic in the gray suit lay on the floor, neck twisted as if someone had gripped his head and wrenched it around.
Meanwhile, of the two prime suspects, Relf's head was missing—jammed into the overhead vent—blood dripping down to pool across the car floor.
"Damn it!!!"
Max, still gripping the headless corpse's hands, cursed and quickly let go, his face and clothes splattered crimson.
Still shaken, he stared at Vic, whose neck had been twisted until it snapped, and at the headless corpse of the black man Relf, then looked toward the woman Abigail cowering in the corner.
"It's you?"
The equally stunned Abigail screamed, near hysterics.
"No!!! It wasn't me!!!"
"If not you, then who!!" Max ground his teeth and strode toward Abigail.
"No! I really didn't do it!" Sensing danger, Abigail shrieked, her eyes locked on Max.
"It's you, isn't it! You're going to kill me next?"
"No!" Max instead walked to the old woman, ripped the rope from its fixture, and headed for Abigail.
"NO! Not me! It really wasn't me!!" Abigail huddled in the corner, cheeks streaked with tears, utterly broken.
Meanwhile, Jeffrey couldn't hear the words but saw Max's actions; he snatched his radio and pressed the button, voice low.
"Max! What do you think you're doing!"
"..."
"I'm not the killer, I won't kill you—I'm only restraining you!" Hearing the broadcast, Max clenched his teeth, seized the collapsing Abigail, and dragged her over.
"NO!" Abigail screamed and struggled, but she couldn't match the stronger man.
"Don't kill me! Please! I beg you..."
Max said nothing. Face cold, he looped the rope around Abigail, dumped her in the opposite corner, then returned to his spot to digest what had just happened.
Seeing this, Jeffrey exhaled in relief. Rubbing his brow as he surveyed the elevator, he realized every earlier deduction had been brutally severed.
In mere seconds, while Max and Relf had held each other at bay, even if Max could break Relf's grip, he couldn't have beheaded Relf, wedged the head into the vent, and twisted Vic's neck—all within those same seconds.
What mattered more: Relf's hands and body still lay exactly as before.
Abigail was even less capable; a woman's natural limitations made that level of violence impossible.
So who was the killer?
As if some unseen prankster mocked him, Jeffrey—unwilling to concede—lifted the radio again.
"Max! Did you see the murder weapon?"
His voice echoed in the elevator. Max swept a numb glance around, then shook his head.
The scene was pristine—nothing but crimson blood and silent corpses.
At Max's answer Jeffrey felt a headache bloom; every avenue of reasoning funneled into a dead end.
Just as despair set in, an officer hurried over clutching a file.
"Officer Jeffrey, headquarters' findings are in."
Jeffrey perked up, snatched the folder, and flipped it open.
One glance made his expression darken with doubt.
The profiles showed none of the five in the elevator were innocents.
The hanged old woman, May Biller, had married thirteen times; every spouse had died bizarrely. Since each widower had been lonely and without kin, she'd inherited everything and become a billionaire.
The decapitated Relf had a record for domestic abuse and robbery; he'd been released only this year.
Vic, neck snapped, was implicated in several financial scams that had left families ruined and victims driven to suicide.
Survivor Max was an ex-soldier, suspected of violating battlefield prohibitions.
As for Abigail, she'd been linked to a murder but released for lack of evidence.
None of the five had any known connection to one another.
Jeffrey closed the file, face grave, remembering a tale from childhood.
"A devil in human form! A devil that judges the guilty!" he murmured, recalling his mother's words.
When logic hit a wall, blame the supernatural—and everything made sense.
"Sir, what are you saying? A devil?"
While Adolf looked baffled, Ronald caught Jeffrey's whisper and rushed to mention the skull. "Officer, look."
Under Jeffrey's gaze he worked the console, replaying the fleeting after-image he'd seen.
But at that exact moment in the rewind, the skull was gone.
"Impossible—I saw it with my own eyes!" Ronald cried.
Jeffrey seized Ronald's arm.
"You're certain?"
Ronald nodded—then, staring at the blank screen, shook his head.
"I definitely saw a skull made of after-images, but now it's not there..."
Jeffrey slowly released him and looked up at the elevator's monitor.
As if to prove something, the elevator lights began to flicker again.
A bad feeling gripped Jeffrey; he stared fixedly at the screen.
Sure enough, ten seconds later the lights died and the monitor went black.
Seconds later it blinked back to life—revealing a body dangling in mid-air: Max, hanged exactly like the old woman, the rope through the vent looking untouched.
Tied and helpless in the corner, Abigail screamed herself into hysterics.
"Somebody save me!!!"
"..."
The sight confirmed Jeffrey's suspicion. While the room stood stunned at the screen, he calmly pulled out his phone and dialed Baker's number.
At that moment, in an unadorned house hung with crucifixes,
York had just returned from church and was dropping a stack of bills into a box—the day's offerings, fifteen hundred and thirty dollars given by parishioners.
He had no intention of keeping it; every cent would be donated at tomorrow's charity event.
More importantly, the box already held over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars—longstanding tokens of the faithful's trust and affection.
Those dollars, once passed on tomorrow, would also convert to points—though the system decided how many.
Task done, York slung a backpack and headed for the basement to store today's freshly made holy water and bullets, and to service the firearms.
Everything needs upkeep to avoid decay—especially guns; a single fault could prove fatal.
He'd just lifted the hidden door when his phone vibrated. Without breaking stride he answered while descending.
To his surprise, a mechanical voice greeted him the instant the call connected.
[Random quest triggered]
[Save more innocents from the enraged demon]
[Reward: +20 points]
[Accept?]
[...]