Lanel Recreational Center. Emerith District. City of Melbury. State of Melbury. Central Republic.
06:00 in the morning.
The sunrise barely manages to pierce the oppressive atmosphere of the Lanel recreational center. In this place, uniformed police officers move with a somber efficiency, their radios crackling with broken communications.
The flashing lights of the patrol cars and the ambulance, which have arrived too late for the victims on the scene, bathe the basketball court and its surroundings in erratic flashes of red and blue, painting a macabre scene upon the floor of a basketball court still stained with blood.
Here, forensic doctors, in their white suits, work with methodical diligence near the two bodies covered by a long white sheet, while the air is charged with the metallic smell of blood, antiseptic, and the dampness of the early morning.
A new day arrives, yes, but no one in the City of Melbury expects what it brings with it, nor the darkness that has danced in one of its most famous parks.
—Please, tell us what happened –The voice of a homicide agent, tired but firm, attempts to penetrate the barrier of shock of a certain young man with fair skin and one meter ninety in height–
Sitting on a cold, metallic bench, set apart from the epicenter of the horror but inevitably its focus, lies Sariel. His head is bowed, his dark and messy hair falling over his forehead, partially hiding a gaze lost in some unfathomable abyss.
His elegant clothes, a dark suit that marks his lean but muscular body, which once spoke of refinement, are now stained with the blood of Officer Montenegro, the Commander of the Morian District Police Station. A vision that attracts the curious and accusing looks of the nearby uniformed officers, with glances that judge him without a trial, that condemn him in silence.
—... –Sariel offers no response, not even a tremor. He remains motionless, like a broken statue–
One of the officers, a woman, about 30 years old, with long, straight blonde hair, fair skin that seems to glow with the sunrise, and one meter seventy-five in height, observes the scene with her blue-green eyes, from a very different perspective than the rest.
For this very reason, seeing the young man in that catatonic state, and after carefully inspecting the surroundings and the preliminary reports, she decides to apply the presumption of innocence and attempts to establish some form of communication; therefore, she cautiously approaches the stranger.
—Young man?, can you hear me? –She asks him, her voice elegant unlike the others, as she squats down to be at Sariel's eye level– Do you know what has happened?–
However, despite the attempt to persuade Sariel, the Agent does not manage to move him for even a second. The man remains in this same state. And seeing this, she stands up and sighs. Not with disappointment, but with a certain sadness for him.
—It would be best to take him to the Station –One of her colleagues finally grows fed up with the man's statue-like attitude–
—But… –The Agent hesitates, worried about the boy's state, as she stands up–
Even though everyone else at the scene seems to firmly believe in his guilt—after all, he is practically a stranger found at a multiple homicide scene, covered in blood—she, the blonde Agent, thanks to a keen sense of smell, special eyes that catch minute details, and the unique experience of her kind, is certain not only of his innocence but also that the story is much more complex.
After all, apart from the residual scent of blood and bullets, the smell of ozone and something strangely burnt still lingers faintly in the air, scents that seem not to be part of this world. Furthermore, the blood on the young man's clothes does not seem to match any wound of his own, as to the naked eye, he does not present any injury.
Regrettably, the person is unable to cooperate, not even able to lift his gaze, to connect with the reality that surrounds him. His state at that moment is not that of a guilty man trying to evade justice, but that of a being who has witnessed a horror that has fractured his psyche. Because of this, no one, not even the one who believes in his innocence, is able to do anything to help him.
—Bring the handcuffs –A Sergeant nearby finally orders–
Then, just as two agents were preparing to proceed with his arrest, something happens. The engine of a black utility police truck, which despite not being from 2025, but from seven years ago, remains high-end and high-caliber, completely interrupts the atmosphere and the actions of everyone as it comes to a sudden halt near the police cordon, a few meters from the crime scene. Seconds later, a door opens, only to finally close with a sharp thud.
—...–
The expression of all the uniformed officers present, from the rookies to the highest-ranking agents, freezes almost instantly upon seeing a certain person step out of the vehicle, a certain woman with a distinctive and well-known appearance. A woman who causes a tense silence, deeper than the one before.
—What has happened here? Why was I called? –The voice is feminine, young, but with a timbre of authority that cuts through the stale air of the crime scene–
A 24-year-old woman steps out of the car; she has fair, sand-toned skin, stands one meter seventy tall, and is dressed in a black formal suit and a white shirt that perfectly hugs her hourglass figure, projecting elegance and control, but also authority and a calculated coldness. In addition to this, she also wears a badge hanging from her neck, whose patterns, different from those of the other agents, make her superior status clear.
She is Salieri Montenegro Neiruk, a famous Detective from the Homicide Unit, not of the local police, but of the country's National Police. Her most characteristic features are her silver-white hair and her scarlet eyes, which everyone in the Central Republic is aware are biological.
—...–
And with her presence, none of those present dare to say anything immediately. Their gazes are evasive, conscious of the delicate and painful connection this newcomer has with one of the primary victims.
—De, Detective Montenegro… –The Sergeant finally stammers, the same one who was about to order Sariel's arrest, her tone now a mixture of respect and apprehension–
After expressing her obvious displeasure with the situation with a frown, the newcomer waits for an explanation. One that, of course, no one dares to give. Or at least not until someone finally decides to do so.
—It is… –A brave one begins. However, his courage soon fades and his voice dies out in a second, for he does not know how to say it–
The young Detective directs her penetrating gaze around, absorbing the chaotic stillness of the scene. Her scarlet eyes stop at the two shapes covered with white sheets, near the three-point line of the adjacent soccer field.
—Are there more? –She asks, her voice now lower, tinged by a blood-chilling premonition–
—Yes… further ahead –An Agent points toward the back, in the middle of the basketball court, with a somber gesture–
—Take me –Salieri orders, her professional calm barely veiling the storm that is slowly forming inside her as she senses that something is going wrong–
Both move forward through the remains of the confrontation, while the young woman continues to look around. Her eyes observe every trace of destruction and evidence, from the smallest, such as simple footprints or cuts in the fabric at the entrance of the play area, to the largest, such as the metal bars of the nearby poles and the baskets, and even small indentations in the ground.
Her face is impassive; however, the oppression of the environment, the somber expression of every officer, and the palpable tragedy cause her heart to begin beating with a painful quickness.
—Here is the third victim –The agent announces, stopping in front of another white blanket covering a body–
The girl observes the white shape beneath her feet for a moment. Then, her attention is captured by the figure in her field of vision, sitting on the nearby bench: the dark-haired young man, Sariel, whose elegant clothes now lie stained with blood and dirt, his posture that of a man completely broken.
—Who is he? –The Detective's voice regains its professional tone; however, her eyes do not turn away from the young man. At the same time, she feels her heart strangely begin to beat with a supreme, alien force that she has never felt before–
—We don't know –Responds the blonde officer who believed in the young man's innocence, who had moved with her toward her location– I tried to speak with him, but since we arrived, he has remained in that state–
—Fine, let me try –Salieri, with a new note in her voice, likely a suspicion or an intuition in both her mind and her now strangely racing heart, is driven to approach–
With decisive and firm steps, she nears the bench where Sariel remains absent. With every step, her heart beats faster and faster, and she even feels a strange warmth in her chest, similar to when she returned to the home where she had lived until she was 18.
—Hey –She says to him, her voice now softer, yet firm–
Slowly, as if emerging from abyssal depths, the young man raises his gaze, and his eyes, which before reflected an unfathomable void, meet those of Detective Salieri.
And in a second, his expression shifts from being lost and devastated to one of absolute and mute stupor, as if he had just seen a ghost or something from another world.