Old days, dice and investigator's manual

Chapter 132 Infiltration (Part 2)

In the middle of the third-floor corridor, there were two police officers. One was squatting on the ground, writing something in a notebook, while the other stood beside him, holding a lantern to provide light in the dimly lit corridor.

"How was it? Pretty exciting, huh?" Carlo's voice rang out.

"It's... horrific." Isaac looked at the scene in the corridor.

The white lines were not evenly distributed. Judging from the direction of the bloodstains, the killing was not a quick and clean one-hit kill followed by the person falling to the ground. It was more like the person was being chased by something in the corridor and torn apart in a short time.

This is something that ordinary people cannot accomplish.

The corridor was no longer visible. Isaac was trying to figure out how to get around the two officers when he saw the officer who had been squatting stand up, say something to his partner, and then the two of them walked toward the stairwell together.

Isaac quickly pulled back and glanced at the stairwell; there was nowhere to hide.

Should I go down to the second floor to hide? But if I walk too fast, my footsteps will be heard.

Gold Medal Assist Carlo then stepped in: "Let's see if we can get away with this. Can Isaac Lessing hide in the corner of the stairwell and not be spotted by these two officers? Check score 50."

33. Verification successful.

Seeing this, Isaac turned sideways and pressed himself against the corner of the stairwell.

Footsteps sounded at the top of the stairs, and two police officers entered the stairwell. Isaac almost brushed past them.

He was just a turn of his head away, the closest one was only two steps away. Although he had passed the check, Isaac still held his breath, preparing to be discovered.

Neither of them noticed Isaac, seemingly focused on the conversation.

"Finally finished registering. What do you think? Does this look like something a human would do?"

"No, you saw those marks on the ground too. It looks like someone was dragged along for a while. There are also scratch marks on the wall. Have you ever seen someone leave scratch marks on the wall after committing murder?"

"Sigh, I've seen many murder scenes where people have died, and I've seen scenes where people have been torn to pieces, but this time—it's both."

"It's definitely a mutant, isn't it? If a high-risk mutant is roaming around the city, that's a big deal."

"That's the FBI's business. Anyway, this case is beyond the scope of our city police department. It's better to hand it over so that I don't have nightmares or get involved with anything I shouldn't."

"Who do you think the FBI will send?"

"I don't know, just don't send anyone from the Ninth Division. I heard the division chief has a really strange temper—"

The two turned a corner on the stairs, and the sound gradually faded away. Isaac breathed a sigh of relief.

"You heard the conversation between those two guys, didn't you?" Carlo said.

"Yes, that's what they said—"

"They actually said I have a weird temper. Looks like I'll have to put some pressure on the city police department from now on."

"—Is this the main point?"

"Otherwise, all the other conclusions are just superficial; you could draw the same conclusions yourself after reading them."

Isaac thought to himself, well, he could actually come up with the conclusion that "the head of the Ninth Section has a very strange temper."

After confirming that no footsteps were heard returning, Isaac entered the third floor and slowly moved forward, carefully avoiding the areas covered by blood, observing the postures outlined by the white lines.

The human figures all faced the direction of the stairwell, and the bloodstains were unevenly splattered, with several streaks dragging diagonally down the wall, as if something had swung its limbs violently during the attack.

He continued walking, and the human figures in the middle of the corridor began to become incomplete. Some only showed the upper body, while others only showed the outline of the torso and a leg. The white lines were intermittent, as if even the person who drew the picture couldn't determine where those parts should have been.

At the end of the corridor, Isaac stopped. There were no longer any human figures; only scattered limb shapes remained.

An arm, half a leg, large, irregular patches of blood, the edges of the chalk lines were soaked with blood, blurring the original boundaries.

He glanced back down the corridor; the silhouettes of human figures stretched from the stairwell all the way to this door, growing ever more prominent as he approached.

The closer you are to the entrance, the more fragmented the outline becomes, and the more people there are.

"Judging from the direction, density, and intensity of the violence, the killer seems to have come from this room. The people in the hallway tried to run, but they were caught one by one," Isaac said in a low voice, his gaze shifting to the door of the room. "Should we go in and take a look?"

"Since you're already here, you're the one who should go in."

Isaac: "—

Okay, he reached for the doorknob.

The door was unlocked and opened easily, releasing a strong odor that was both pungent and damp.

Isaac held his breath. The room was pitch black, with no lights or windows. The light filtering through the door frame illuminated only a small patch of floor near the entrance, where some dampness could be seen.

He stepped inside, took out his matchbox, struck a match, and the flame flickered, illuminating the mottled dark red "paint" on the wall.

This is too much—Isaac frowned, suppressing his nausea.

The fishy, ​​sweet smell in the air was too strong. It had been lingering in the room for a long time, as if it were seeping out from the walls and floor, with nowhere to go but to accumulate here.

Isaac took another step and entered the room, where he saw what appeared to be an iron-framed bed deep inside.

Just as Isaac was about to lean closer for a look, Carlo's voice rang out: "Too bad you can't see my perspective; it's quite interesting."

"Huh? What?"

Just as Isaac asked the question, a muffled thud was heard.

The door closed.

He turned around, not having time to figure out how it was turned off, a muffled buzzing sound pierced his ears.

hum-

In an instant, tinnitus blurred his hearing, as if a string had been plucked, making him feel as if his skull was resonating.

Isaac's vision twitched, and a dense array of blurry images appeared before his eyes, as if his eyes were creating something on their own.

In the blur, it seemed as if the viscous layers on the surrounding walls were also wriggling—no, they really were wriggling?

Isaac's breath hitched, and the match in his hand burned to the end. He was burned and released his grip. The match fell to the ground, and the little bit of light was swallowed by the darkness as it fell, plunging the room into complete darkness.

The tinnitus began to change, from a buzzing sound to rhythmic breathing. He couldn't even tell if the sound was coming from some direction in the darkness or appearing directly in his mind.

Isaac tried to step back towards the door, but when his hand touched the door panel, he felt a wet liquid.

Whew, calm down—Isaac withdrew his hand, fumbled for another match in the box, and struck it again.

As the firelight flickered on, before he could fully adjust to the dim light, he saw—a dark red.

The blood-stained paint smeared out the shapes of eyes and mouth, glistening damply in the firelight, surging and gathering.

A face hung down from the ceiling, so close to him that he couldn't tell if it was really in front of him.