21:32:56.
The timer hovered in Adrian's vision, numbers ticking down with mechanical indifference. He had no time to waste. Every second was a reminder: another life on the line, another puzzle unsolved. The city outside was a blur of neon and rain, the kind of night that pressed in on you, heavy and relentless.
He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping restlessly against his thigh. The system's interface flickered at the edge of his sight, scrolling through data, cross-referencing, searching for anything—anything—that might break the case open.
System: Reviewing case files… Autopsy report, forensic analysis, evidence logs, cross-referencing with unsolved cases.
Adrian's eyes burned from lack of sleep. He'd spent the last few hours poring over every detail, every scrap of evidence. The system was thorough, but even it couldn't conjure answers from thin air. The facts remained stubbornly opaque: three victims, three ordinary lives, three hearts replaced with intricate clockwork mechanisms. No witnesses, no CCTV, no clear motive.
System: No related cases found. No new evidence. Would you like to review the timeline again?
He shook his head, jaw tight. "Just keep looking."
The rain intensified, drumming against the windshield in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Streetlights cast long, wavering shadows across the dashboard. Adrian's mind wandered back to the victims—Samantha Cortez, Thomas Swiss, Andrew Smiles. All of them described as reliable, hardworking, always on the clock. He wondered if that was the connection, or just another coincidence in a case built on them.
He pulled into a gas station, filled the tank, and grabbed a stale sandwich and a bottle of water. The attendant barely looked up as Adrian paid, lost in his own world of late-night monotony. Adrian envied him, just for a moment—the simplicity of routine, the comfort of not knowing what waited in the dark.
Back in the car, he ate in silence, the system quietly updating the case board. He checked the timer again: 21:05:12. Time was slipping away, faster than he liked.
System: Would you like to review the autopsy reports again?
Adrian sighed. "Go ahead."
The system projected the reports in front of him, lines of text and images hovering in the air. He scanned through them, looking for anything he might have missed. The wounds were precise, almost surgical. The clockwork hearts were masterpieces of craftsmanship—no manufacturer's marks, no fingerprints except for the ones he'd already traced back to the victims' bosses. But those leads had gone nowhere. Just handshakes, moments of praise, nothing more.
System: Forensic analysis confirms no foreign DNA. No unusual fibers or residues. The killer is meticulous.
Adrian rubbed his temples. "What about the crime scenes? Anything unusual in the soil samples, the grass, the air?"
System: All samples consistent with the environment. No trace evidence. No signs of struggle.
He leaned back in the seat, staring at the ceiling. The killer was a ghost, leaving nothing behind but bodies and questions.
Long night indeed.
By the time he pulled up to the Dane Diner, the timer read 20:57:00. Neon lights flickered in the drizzle, painting the windows in sickly blue and pink. The diner was nearly empty, just a few regulars hunched over their meals, lost in their own late-night rituals. Adrian stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming a tired welcome.
He slid onto a stool at the counter, glancing at the menu more out of habit than hunger. The cashier, a young woman with dark circles under her eyes, approached.
"Coffee. Black. And whatever's hot tonight," Adrian said, voice rough from the road.
She scribbled down his order. "Anything else?"
He nodded toward the corner. "Is there a smoking area here?"
She shook her head. "Not inside, but there's a spot outside by the exit." She eyed his badge as he set it on the counter. "You're here about Samantha, aren't you?"
Adrian nodded, flashing his badge. "I'll need to ask a few questions."
The cashier's expression softened. "Of course. Please, have a seat near the exit. I'll get the manager and your food."
He settled at a table near the door, close to the smoking area. The system hovered quietly, updating the case board as he scanned the room. Photos of Samantha Cortez—smiling, proud, Employee of the Month for eight years running—lined the wall near the bar. He studied them, noting the dates, the progression of hairstyles, the unwavering smile. Samantha had been a fixture here, a constant in a world that rarely offered such things.
A few minutes later, a heavyset man with a manager's tag approached, balancing a steaming plate and a mug of coffee. "Detective Cross? I'm Deniel Grace, manager here."
Adrian nodded, gesturing for Deniel to sit. "Thanks for meeting with me. I know it's late."
Deniel eased into the chair, his bulk making the seat creak. "Anything to help. Samantha was… family to us."
Adrian took a sip of coffee, letting the bitter heat jolt him awake. "Tell me about her."
Deniel's gaze drifted to the wall of photos. "Samantha was the best. Always on the clock, always moving. If a customer waited too long, she'd be in the kitchen, making sure their food was coming. Never slacked off, never complained. She kept to herself, mostly. Worked hard, sent money home to her family. No drama, no trouble."
Adrian chewed his food thoughtfully. Another model employee. No obvious reason to be targeted. He glanced at the timer—20:03:46.
He finished his meal and reached for his wallet. "How much do I owe?"
Deniel shook his head. "It's on the house. Least we can do for someone trying to help Samantha."
Adrian frowned. "Business is business. I'll pay."
Deniel hesitated, then slid a five-meal voucher across the table. "If you insist. But take this, please. For your trouble."
Adrian tried to refuse, but Deniel pressed it into his hand. "Thank you, Detective. I hope you find whoever did this. Samantha deserves peace."
Adrian nodded, pocketing the voucher. He wandered over to the bar, studying the photos of Samantha. "System, add these to the case file."
System: Already done. Efficiency is my middle name.
He lingered by the wall, studying the photos. Eight years, month after month, Samantha's face smiled back at him. He wondered what it took to be that consistent, that reliable. He wondered if it had made her a target.
He stepped outside to the smoking area, the night air cool against his skin. He pulled out a cigarette, hesitated as the system flashed a warning.
System: You know, smoking is hazardous to your health. Would you like to activate the "Quit Smoking" quest?
Adrian snorted, tucking the cigarette away. "Not tonight."
He leaned against the wall, watching the city breathe. The diner's neon sign buzzed overhead, casting a pale glow across the wet pavement. He watched the cars pass, their headlights slicing through the darkness. Somewhere out there, the killer was waiting. Somewhere, another clock was ticking down.
No leads. No answers. Just the ticking clock.
He exhaled, frustration simmering. The only option left was the second victim's workplace. Maybe there, he'd find the thread he needed.
He checked his phone—no new messages, no updates from Officer Lin. The silence was oppressive, a weight pressing down on his chest. He wondered if he was missing something, some detail hidden in plain sight.
System: Would you like to review the case board again?
Adrian shook his head. "No. Not yet."
He walked back to his car, the voucher still warm in his hand. He slipped it into his wallet, unsure if he'd ever use it. He started the engine, the dashboard lights flickering to life. The timer glared at him: 19:58:22.
He drove through the city, the streets empty and slick with rain. He passed closed shops, shuttered windows, the occasional stray cat darting through the shadows. The city felt different at night—quieter, more honest. The masks people wore during the day slipped away, leaving only the truth behind.
He thought about Samantha, about Andrew, about Thomas. Ordinary people, living ordinary lives, until someone decided to turn them into something else. He wondered what the killer saw in them—what made them special, what made them targets.
He pulled up outside his apartment, the building looming over him like a silent sentinel. He sat in the car for a long moment, listening to the rain. The system was quiet, waiting.
System: You should rest. Fatigue will impair your judgment.
Adrian smiled, a tired, bitter thing. "I'll rest when this is over."
He climbed the stairs to his apartment, the hallway dim and silent. He hung his coat, kicked off his boots, and collapsed onto the couch. The timer hovered in his vision, relentless.
He closed his eyes, letting the darkness wash over him. Tomorrow, he'd visit Lenard Construction. Tomorrow, he'd find the thread he needed.
But tonight, all he could do was wait—and hope the clock didn't run out.