Isarish stood in the dim light, his mind working like a finely tuned machine. The entire force had surrounded the 18 warehouses, but even with their numbers, it was a race against time. They couldn't risk alerting the killer or his accomplices. If they rushed in, the hostages, if there were any, would be lost before they could make their move.
His eyes flicked back to the symbol that had been on each victim. The same symbol he had seen on the files, the same symbol that seemed to bind this entire twisted puzzle together.
Where are they?
The symbol had an eerie familiarity to it. It wasn't just a mark—it was a signature. But it wasn't random. Isarish knew that much. It had to lead somewhere. It wasn't just some arbitrary design; it had meaning, a connection to something deeper. And now, as he stared at the symbol once more, something in the back of his mind clicked.
Suddenly, he spoke, his voice cutting through the chaos.
"Seventh warehouse, first column, third one," he exclaimed, his tone decisive.
The officers froze, exchanging confused looks. No one understood the significance of what he just said.
"But—Sir, what do you mean?" one officer asked, his voice filled with uncertainty. "There are 18 warehouses. How can, you be sure?"
Isarish didn't waste a second. He snapped, his voice unwavering, "We don't have time to explain, hurry up!"
His command was firm, the urgency in his voice undeniable. There was no time for lengthy explanations or debates. Isarish's instincts had already connected the dots, and the path ahead was clear. He knew, with absolute certainty, that Warehouse 7 was the key. But now was not the time to discuss why. It was time for action.
The officers, though puzzled, followed his order without question. The clock was ticking, and they could only trust Isarish's unerring judgment. They rushed to Warehouse 7, their movements swift and precise, ready to face whatever awaited them within.
The officers moved swiftly, their boots crunching against the damp earth as they followed Isarish's lead. The air was thick with tension. Every second wasted could mean another life lost.
As they neared Warehouse 7, the looming structure stood eerily silent against the backdrop of the moonlit fields. Its rusted metal doors were slightly ajar, swaying with a faint creak in the night breeze. The grass in front of it was disturbed, unlike the other warehouses, as if something—or someone—had recently passed through.
Inspector Rayhan gripped his revolver tightly, glancing at Isarish. "We go in quiet?"
Isarish's eyes, sharp as ever, flickered with thought. He nodded. "If they know we're here, the hostages are as good as dead."
With a silent hand signal, the officers spread out, surrounding the building. Two men moved toward the rear exit, cutting off any escape. The tension in the air thickened. Then, a muffled sound from inside—voices.
Alice, standing just behind Isarish, clenched her fists. Her brother's face flashed before her mind, but she forced herself to stay composed. This wasn't just revenge—it was about saving those still alive.
Isarish knelt, pressing his palm lightly against the ground near the entrance. The dirt here was damp and unsettled, as if something heavy had been dragged inside recently. His suspicions solidified.
He exhaled slowly. "There are people inside. At least three armed men, maybe more."
Rayhan's brows furrowed. "How do you know?"
Isarish tilted his head toward the door. "Footsteps—two sets pacing, one standing still. The still one is likely guarding the hostages. The pacing ones are waiting for something… or someone."
Rayhan gave him a look of admiration. "Sir, how do you—?"
"No time for that," Isarish interrupted, eyes locked on the door. "We move now."
With a final nod, the officers rushed in.
Inside the Warehouse
The moment they stepped inside, the air turned thick with the stench of blood and sweat. Dim oil lamps cast flickering shadows against the wooden crates stacked high.
At the centre of the room, seven people knelt on the cold ground, blindfolded and bound. Some trembled, others were eerily still. A lone man in a dark vest stood behind them, a pistol in his hand. Two others—armed with knives—whirled around in shock at the sudden invasion.
"Drop your weapons!" Rayhan bellowed.
One of the men lunged—but Isarish was faster. He stepped forward, twisting the attacker's wrist, forcing the knife to the ground. A swift elbow to the ribs sent the man staggering back.
Gunshots erupted. One officer fell with a grunt, clutching his shoulder. Another officer returned fire, striking one of the criminals in the leg.
Chaos. Screams. The bound victims whimpered, pressing themselves to the ground as bullets whizzed overhead.
Alice's heart pounded as she spotted the man with the pistol, his hands twitching toward one of the hostages—a woman, barely able to breathe through her gag. He was going to kill her.
"Isarish!" she cried.
But Isarish had already moved.
With deadly precision, he grabbed a nearby wooden plank and hurled it. It slammed into the gunman's wrist, knocking the pistol from his grasp. Rayhan seized the moment, charging forward and tackling him to the ground.
Within moments, the remaining criminals were disarmed and restrained. The fight was over.
"Uff! British police force is really useless, I guess. They would have never given a shot to this case if the second victim was not the close one of Mr. Carlson". Isarish whispered.
Amid the chaos of the warehouse, as the last of the armed men were subdued and the hostages huddled in frightened silence, Isarish stood amidst the wreckage, his eyes cold and calculating. The clatter of disarmed weapons and ragged breaths of the criminals filled the room when suddenly, a slow, measured applause broke through the tumult.
From a shadowed doorway at the back of the room, Dr. Rafiq emerged, clapping softly. His dark eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and something almost regretful.
"I knew you would find this, Isarish," he said, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. "But I'm afraid that when you finally catch a glimpse of the truth... it will be too late."
The inspector Rayhan, still reeling from the fight, roared in anger. "Fuck him! Shoot him—blast bullets inside his head!" His outburst echoed in the chamber, a raw expression of his fury at the doctor's apparent arrogance.
Isarish raised a hand, silencing the inspector Rayhan with a cool, measured tone. A slow, almost ironic smile crept across his face as he addressed the enraged officer.
"No, he's not the real culprit here," Isarish said, his voice slicing through the tension. "Dr. Rafiq isn't the one pulling the strings. He's our connection—a bridge to something far more sinister." He paused, scanning the room as the hostages began to stir, relieved but confused. "What's the point of holding these hostages if they're never meant to die? Who is the true orchestrator of all this? I suspect it's someone very close... someone who's been in plain sight all along."
Dr. Rafiq's smile deepened, though there was a flicker of worry behind his eyes. "You may think you have it all figured out, Isarish," he said softly, "but remember: sometimes, the truth is layered, and those closest to you often hide the darkest secrets."
The inspector Rayhan's face contorted with a mix of anger and disbelief, but Isarish silenced him with a piercing look. "Now," Isarish continued, "we follow the trail. We must uncover who—beyond Dr. Rafiq—is orchestrating this nightmare. The hostages, the missing patients, these murders... they are pieces of a larger puzzle, and the real culprit is someone who's been manipulating events from the very heart of our own circle."
As the officers began gathering evidence and securing the area, Isarish stepped forward toward Dr. Rafiq. His eyes burned with a determination that chilled even the hardened criminals on the floor.
"Dr. Rafiq," he said evenly, "tell us what you know about this person. Who, in your eyes, could be so close as to orchestrate all this—and yet remain hidden in plain sight?"
Dr. Rafiq hesitated, his expression darkening for a moment before he spoke. "There are things in this world that even I cannot fully control," he murmured. "But if you truly wish to know the truth, you must be prepared to face it, no matter how devastating it may be."
Isarish's gaze did not waver. "Then consider this our final move. We will peel back every layer of deception. And when we finally expose the mastermind behind these crimes, you—and everyone involved—will see just how deep the darkness runs."
The warehouse fell silent once more as the weight of Isarish's words settled over them all. The chase was far from over. The real puppet master was still out there, hidden among those who they trusted, waiting for the moment when the mask would finally slip—and the truth would be laid bare.