AI Detective Harlow Quinn stared at the dwarf. Muerto. He'd seen his fill of corpses, but this one was different. Sweaty, hairy, wearing a sheriff's star badge.
"Ain't noChainbreaker. I'm confounded." Whispering murderers isn't usually a thing. But I'm the only one here. With a dwarf." Tucking the note in his pocket, he scanned the room. "This won't be on the list. But it will be on the record. Because it stinks like something dragged in from a fever dream."
"Oi! What's the plan,-seven hundred and twelve?" Lollipop crunched under his boot, smeared on the wall. He wiped sticky sugar residue on his trousers.
Seven hundred twelve? He glanced around. No identifiers. Just a seed bag collapsed in the corner.
"Guessing games. My favorite." Rifle in hand, he hunched down to peer through the scope.
"Right..." He fiddled with the focus, lens wavy, cramped. A pattern shifted out of the blur. Numbers punched through paper. A formula of sorts. Thousands maximizing hundreds.
"I never was good at math." " I'm not arguing . I'm not a linguist. Not one for all that talk." He shrugged, a kitchen knife clattering to the floor. Picking it up, he tossed it in the direction of the dwarf. "Ain't a linguist... who came to kill a linguist." File was thicker than normal. Not standard fare. An afterthought almost. Usually they just...
"And follows nobody but orders." A grin cracked, revealing a gold tooth, mustache twitching. A man of few words. But a man who knew his place.
Detective Quinn held up the phone, a sliver bar window showing him at a less-than-flattering angle. Beady eyes stared out of an eternity of time, past distance...
"Had a feeling this would turn odd. Just not this odd." Money. Always money. And murder, he supposed.
"Okay, we've got a dead dwarf." "Aye." "A live human. Who says he's not involved." He grunted, leather of his boots squeaking. "So we've a chain of events that doesn't check out."
"Bored boys masquerading as linguistic experts." "An odd bedfellows murder." The phone rang again, shrilling, bouncing off the floor.
"So what's the password?" "A pantomime. Three acts." Ryo let out a breath he'd been holding, phone buzzing again. Unfamiliar number. "And a note attached marching orders. ... You got it. A servant of destiny. And now..." He paused, letting the image of the dwarf die and fade, almost.
"I'm late. So many thoughts, so few words, and I'm out of time." "Don't be daft. We're just starting our act two." "Well played." "Here you go." The file dropped on the table, a sudden rain, pages splattering out.
"Dry fertilizer. But this formula isn't in any of the other files." DS Morris turned over the paper bag, it's ghostly contents and dust setting. "So we have a man murdered. We know he was applying for linguist positions." "In Academical workflows." "Yes, thank you..." "And?" "And he was using double-quadle عين, 날아 Hermes informational signatures on his machine." "Mmm-hmm." A bluff. A grand plan. "Go on." "Your story organizer. Something relevant." "Something for his wall." "Yes." Above the table was a puzzle. A map, glowing, jumping out of a net. "Cities linked." "Linked." Yes. "Interested. And somewhere here is our man in the next approved file." "And somehow connected to him dying in the process." "So what's the plan, seven hundred and twelve?" Harlow turned to the dwarf, cogs turning, trying to break the code of this cryptic web in his mind. "We keep digging." His watch read 12:00, but there was still plenty of time to kill, albeit gingerly. "He's been busy." "But we won't be long." A knock rapped at the door. "Finally." He looked at the door. "About time." burgundy red eyes glowed like sparks. "So... what's your role, seven hundred and twelve?" Because this isn't the story you think it is. "I'm serving a purpose. A blueprint. An actor in a play. And I'm about to walk off stage." His mustache twitched. "I'm... Director." He laughed. "Of The Cycle Of A Steel Rose." "And it's magic. Right?" "You tell me." "I'm no expert. But this? Bloody. Obsess. Seduces." And pulls you in. The detective laughed, leaning back. "Only way out is forward . Dinner." He stood, striding for the door, ready to enter the rabbit hole. In the mirror qi.ll.rcy, a solution. Or Is it? "Huh?" .ery.xicent Times." "Cheque." "Let's say five." "Five." He smiled as AC/DC played softly underneath, determined to be three steps behind. "I'm that dwarf. Maybe. At least for now." "Good." He paused, hands clasped behind his back. "Good to see you again, Det. Quinn." "Good to be back." Harlow nodded to DetectiveFC Cole, bag in hand. "So... what have you got for me?" The detective flicked through his notebook, stepping closer to the crime scene. "So what have you got for me?" Harlow grimaced, scanning the scene, an uneasy feeling creeping into his gut. Something wasn't right. The dwarf's body sat off centre, an odd array of terror and confusion etched on his face, the gash on his chest gaping. "Handwritten notebooks. Hundreds of pages. Ancient Sumerian texts." original crone text. "Ritualistic killing, textbook definition. Cut-heart removal. Very precise." "And?" He picked up a book, pages of symbols and diagrams. "Phoz. Ouredniqn. Miki memi dem wolves." He flipped it over, 512 pages, Tattered pages, Stained pages. "Busy ones." He pulled out a piece of paper, a diagram drawn out. "odd pattern." The word above in a foreign language. "Not the usual suspects." The head of a wolf, body that of a chicken, and a hypno symbol. "Or some dead language symbol." Snake and pig and an eagle clawing through dirt under it. "Or something relevant to our case?" "So?" The vials gleamed in the light, jars of amber fluid with distinctive labels. "Also a headless dwarf dies inside a locked room." He turned to -, walking towards him. "And the dwarf's look." He pointed to the body, a strange smile on his face, eyes glazed over. "What's your theory, Detective Quinn?" He leaned in close, voice low. "Truth is... I don't know if this dwarf is even real." He paused, scanning the room again. "Or if this is all some sick game." The dwarf was dead. That much was clear. But something about the scene seemed off. A locked room. Ritualistic murder. Mystical objects. It was like a bad dream. Detective Quinn fiddled with his watch , glancing at his partner, Detective Cole. "I don't know , Detective." Detective Cole replied, leaning over the body. "I found this unlocked, next to the body." He held up a brass compass, tiny sigils etched into the casing. "Better not be a vorpal blade." The dwarf's candy stick still bobbing. "You're a literal thinker." Sighing, Detective Cole looked around the room. "I'm not finding anything. Maybe we're missing something." "I'm not finding anything." he grumbled. "Nothing's adding up. But that's the society in a box. Grams of snow and a flying claw." "This place gives me the heebie jeebies." A crackling hum, like static, buzzing through his speakers. "But you found them, right? That's the stakes?" "Physically obéy?" "But I can't do those today." He jotted down a few notes in his notebook, circling the word 'clockwork.' "So? I'm no linguist. What's it mean?" "Gnash afterwards witnessing the marks." He paused, stepping closer to the body. "This isn't adding up." "Another one right behind me, ready to take your place." He grumbled, picking up a page of notes. "Let's hope so." "Let's go over the arrangements, Detective Quinn." He gave a sharp nod as Detective Cole held up a jar of viscous fluid, a ring of shimmering light hovering above it. "It's not that simple." The dwarf's head tilted upward, mouth stretched into a grotesque grin. "The arrangements." He sighed, shoulders slumping . "I'm not sure we should be making any. This is bigger than us now." "We have to get to the bottom of this first." "That's the story... right?" Detective Quinn stepped closer, glaring at the detective. "I haven't misinformed anyone. I'm guessing you haven't found anything unusual." "No," Cole replied apprehensively. "Just a whole lot of nothing. No murder weapon. No apparent entry or exit." "The dwarf is dead." He sighed, looking around the room. "Something's not right here. It's like a bad dream." "It is a bad dream. Or you're on one." Detective Cole looked over at Detective Quinn. "I don't know , Detective. This is strange even for us." He nodded, flipping through his notebook. "I know . It's not like anything we've seen before." The dwarf's eyes flicked open, a manic grin splitting his face, the word written in blood above him: R-ethyl That's it. The truth." He pointed to a small jar of fluid, sitting on a shelf. "This room's been prescripted." "Another one right behind me, ready to take your place." Detective Quinn read out loud from his notes, thick paper glowing under the light of a single candle. "I don't know . None of it makes sense." Detective Cole grumbled, looking over the body. "It doesn't have to. All it needs is to sell a lie well enough." He looked up at Detective Quinn. "I'm coming. I'll be there." - "The arrangement is settled." The dwarf sat up, looking around the room. "Someone's pulling some heavy strings... as a villian." xored 128 bits together. it's some kind of password." Cole stared at Harlow, then at the dwarf. "What on Earth does that even mean?" Harlow grumbled, looking over his notes. "Meaning. The only connection between the murders." He looked up at Cole. "He was tracking them. He knew they were connected." "Me, I like clear." He walked over to the locked door, staring at the dial. A bunch of different lock combinations, each one linking to a different victim. "None of which is their date of death." He turned to the dwarf. 'Who are you and what is going on here?'".