The fog was thicker than ever that night, swallowing the city whole. Streetlights were reduced to halos of blurred gold, and even the honking of cars sounded distant, muffled under the heavy veil. It was as if the entire world had been submerged underwater.
Haratu Sota moved through the streets like a shadow, the stolen case file hidden under his coat. Beside him, Detective Tanaka tried to match his pace, her eyes darting nervously at every corner, every sound.
They weren't safe.
Not anymore.
As they turned into a narrow alley near the back of the station, Haratu suddenly stopped.
Tanaka frowned. "What is it?"
He didn't answer. He was staring into the mist ahead.
A figure stood there — barely visible, almost a silhouette — blocking their path.
The stranger wore a long black coat, the collar turned up against the cold. A wide-brimmed hat cast a shadow over their face, but a single glint of light caught the thin wire frames of glasses perched on their nose.
For a moment, nobody spoke. The fog thickened between them like a living thing.
Finally, the figure spoke — a voice low, calm, almost eerily composed.
"You've found it, haven't you?"
Not a question. A statement.
Haratu's hand twitched toward the inside of his coat — ready to draw a concealed weapon if needed. "Who are you?" he demanded.
The stranger tilted his head slightly. "A friend. Or perhaps an enemy. It depends on what you intend to do with the truth you carry."
Tanaka took a step forward, her instincts screaming danger. "How do you know about the file?"
The stranger chuckled — a dry, humorless sound. "The Cycle isn't just murder, Detective Tanaka. It's a ritual. A game played by those who believe themselves above fate."
Haratu narrowed his eyes. "You're involved."
The figure shook his head slowly. "No. I merely watch. I listen. And sometimes..."
He smiled faintly, a glint of white teeth in the darkness.
"...I offer warnings."
A cold shiver ran down Tanaka's spine. She instinctively reached for her sidearm, but Haratu raised a hand to stop her. He wanted answers more than a fight.
"You know who's behind this," Haratu said flatly.
The stranger didn't deny it.
Instead, he said, "There is an organization. Older than the mayor, older than the scandals you chase. They exist to correct 'imbalances' in power. When secrets grow too dangerous, when individuals rise too high—"
He snapped his fingers.
"—the Cycle resets them."
Tanaka shook her head in disbelief. "You're saying this is... organized? Deliberate?"
The man nodded. "The Reverse Cycle isn't an accident. It's tradition."
Haratu stepped closer. "Tell me their name."
The stranger hesitated. For the first time, a crack appeared in his calm exterior.
"I cannot speak it aloud," he said. "Not here. Not now. But if you wish to dig deeper..."
He pulled a small, white card from inside his coat and flicked it through the air. Haratu caught it easily.
There was no name on the card — only a single address, handwritten in black ink:
Yoruha District, Block 17, Room 404.
Without another word, the stranger turned and disappeared into the mist, swallowed as quickly as he had appeared.
For a moment, Haratu and Tanaka stood frozen, the heavy silence pressing down on them.
Then Tanaka spoke, her voice shaking slightly.
"Do we trust him?"
Haratu tucked the card into his pocket. His expression was unreadable, his mind already racing several moves ahead.
"Trust?" he echoed. "No."
He turned back toward the street.
"But we follow."
---
The Silent Apartment
The Yoruha District was a forgotten part of the city — a crumbling maze of abandoned buildings and condemned lots. It was the kind of place the police didn't patrol after dark. The perfect hiding place for secrets.
Haratu and Tanaka found Block 17 easily enough — a half-collapsed apartment complex with rusted balconies and broken windows. Stray cats darted between the shadows. The air stank of mildew and decay.
Room 404 was on the fourth floor. They climbed the cracked stairs carefully, the wood groaning under their weight.
The door to 404 was unlocked.
Haratu pushed it open slowly.
Inside was darkness, thick and suffocating. The beam of Haratu's flashlight cut through it, revealing an empty room. Dust hung in the air like tiny stars.
But there, in the center of the room, was a single object:
A videotape.
Unmarked. Left on the bare floor like an offering.
Tanaka frowned. "A tape? Who even uses these anymore?"
Haratu didn't answer. His instincts screamed that they were being watched, but there was no sign of anyone else.
He picked up the tape carefully. It was old, dusty — but still intact.
"Someone wanted us to find this," he said.
Tanaka shivered. "Or wanted to lure us into a trap."
Haratu slipped the tape into his coat. "Either way, we have no choice."
As they turned to leave, Tanaka caught a glimpse of something scrawled on the far wall — a message, written hastily in red spray paint:
"THE DEAD REMEMBER."
---
The Secrets on Tape
Back at Haratu's apartment — a stark, clean space overlooking the city — they dusted off an old VCR player and inserted the tape.
The screen crackled to life.
At first, there was only static.
Then — a blurred, shaky video.
A man sat in front of the camera, his face shadowed, voice trembling.
"If you're seeing this," he said, "it means I failed."
Behind him, the Yoruha District skyline was visible — confirming the video had been recorded locally.
"I was part of it," the man confessed. "The Cycle. I helped choose the names. I thought we were saving the city. That it was necessary..."
He broke off, choking back tears.
"But it's not salvation. It's murder. It's madness."
He leaned closer to the camera, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"They don't let anyone leave once you know the truth. They make sure you disappear. And if you try to resist—"
Suddenly, loud banging echoed on the tape. The man looked over his shoulder, terror in his eyes.
"They're here," he whispered.
The screen went black.
Static swallowed the room again.
Tanaka sat frozen, blood cold.
Haratu slowly leaned back, processing everything.
They now had undeniable proof — a confession, a clear link to the conspiracy.
But the warning was clear too:
They were being hunted.
And somewhere in the city, the Reverse Cycle turned ever onward, dragging them closer to the heart of a darkness older and deeper than anything they had imagined.