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墨書 Inktalez
The midnight streets were eerily silent, as if the entire city held its breath, leaving only the charred corpse hanging from the utility pole above, quietly suspended in the night. Emma Ross stood in the middle of the sidewalk, gazing up at the twisted body. The dim streetlight illuminated the grotesque features of the deceased; his mouth slightly ajar, as if he had let out a final silent scream before death.
The body was completely naked, its skin burned to a deep black, muscles shriveled like a tree trunk struck by lightning. The stench of charred flesh wafted through the cold wind, making one gag. The limbs were unnaturally contorted, fingers mangled and likely severed during convulsions caused by the electric current coursing through him. The flesh on his face was cracked and charred; one eye had burst and vanished, while the other remained open, dry and hollow, staring vacantly at the city that had consumed him. His body was wrapped in steel wire, resembling a twisted piece of art, swaying in the wind and emitting a chilling creaking sound.
Below the utility pole, police had cordoned off the area with yellow tape. A group of detectives silently observed the scene; no one spoke, no one appeared shocked. After all, in this city, such a manner of death was not uncommon. Detective Sharp stood directly beneath the corpse, his black trench coat fluttering slightly. He let out a long sigh, hands stuffed in his pockets, his expression weary as if he had grown tired of such occurrences.
“Brother Jie,” he murmured softly, his tone betraying neither sarcasm nor mourning, “it seems someone wasn’t too pleased with the money you’ve made over the years.”
Brother Jie—the manager of the largest brothel in the city—was deeply involved in human trafficking, drugs, and extortion; he had once been the underground king of this street. His establishment had housed countless desperate women and witnessed innumerable hopeless transactions. He welcomed wealthy clients with a smile while using an iron fist to suppress dissenters, evading numerous investigations and crackdowns like an old fox. Yet ultimately, his corpse had become tonight’s most horrifying spectacle beneath the city’s night sky.
Emma Ross stood beside Sharp with her arms crossed and an indifferent expression. She didn’t know what others thought, but seeing this villain’s charred body hanging in midair stirred a strange sense of satisfaction within her. She wasn’t an advocate for vigilante justice nor did she believe such a death was just; however, she understood that people like him could never receive true judgment. The law had never been able to punish those truly guilty and powerful. But tonight—someone had made a choice for this city.
“So… was it an accident or what?” a young officer tentatively asked, his tone laced with hesitation.
“What do you think?” Sharp replied with a nod toward the body. “A sudden blackout in the city center at midnight, then someone finds this guy tied to a utility pole and fried to a crisp. Do you think that’s an accident?”
The officer fell silent and lowered his head to take notes without asking further questions.
Emma Ross said nothing; she merely looked up one last time at Brother Jie’s corpse. The moon was full tonight, its silvery light spilling over this corrupt city and illuminating that charred body. She squinted slightly, fully aware that this would not be the last time someone faced reckoning in darkness while all police could do was collect these bodies and pretend they still held control over the situation.
Sharp stood beneath the corpse, looking up at the charred body with little expression on his face—only exhaustion and an uncontainable irritation showed through. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the night air, nauseating yet he had encountered too many similar scents to feel anything now. His black trench coat fluttered gently in the night breeze like a heavy shadow standing quietly within the dim glow of streetlights.
He took a deep breath and suddenly turned around sharply, his voice harsh as he called out to his fellow detectives: “Is there any kind soul here who has any leads? In this blatantly obvious crime scene?” His voice dripped with sarcasm mixed with impatience, leaving those present momentarily speechless; no one dared to speak because they all knew too well—this was far from an ordinary case.
Emma stood at the back of the crowd, quietly observing Sharp's expression. She understood well that his anger was not directed at the police force but stemmed from pressure. Recently, such cases had been occurring too frequently—shootings, explosions, terrorist attacks—this city had become a slaughterhouse devoid of order. They, as detectives, had to deal with the pressures from politicians while navigating the undercurrents of gang influence, not to mention the insincere smile plastered on Mayor Rain's face during every meeting. Sharp was already exhausted, but just when he thought things couldn't get worse, something even more outrageous happened—like now—the city's biggest pimp was electrocuted and hung from a utility pole, swaying like a curse.
Emma sighed softly and quietly approached Sharp, lowering her voice to detail her observations from the scene: "There are drag marks of blood on the ground, extending from that end of the street all the way here... The irregular distribution of blood suggests that the victim was likely still conscious or struggling while being dragged." She looked up at the utility pole. "Then, the killer must have first abducted Brother Jie, knocked him out, brought him here, then used a rope to hoist him up onto the wires before finally electrocuting him."
Sharp listened silently, arms crossed, his gaze still stern. "Are you sure it was a rope that was thrown up there?"
Emma nodded. "There are no signs of climbing on the pole, nor any support points for the killer to reach up there. So the most logical method would be to throw a rope up and then slowly lift the victim... This requires significant upper body strength."
Sharp frowned. "So... this doesn't seem like something a gang would do; they wouldn't spend so much time on a corpse."
Emma paused for a moment, her tone becoming more cautious. "Moreover, given this calm yet brutal method and the lack of any extraneous traces left at the scene... we only have one suspect."
Sharp's gaze darkened slightly; that name already floated in his mind, but he still asked, "Who?"
Without hesitation, Emma whispered the answer they both knew all too well: "Carter."
A brief silence fell between them. The surrounding detectives were still busy taking notes and photographs, but both Sharp and Emma understood that this was not just a simple murder case; it was a message—someone was settling scores in this city, and this was just the beginning.
Sharp let out a low sigh, as if suppressing an overwhelming fatigue, then gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath: "Damn it... Carter Black... hell..." His voice was low but carried an intensity of suppressed rage, as if his inner turmoil was on the verge of exploding. The relentless killings, terror attacks, shootings, and explosions over the past few weeks had left him overwhelmed; this case had pushed him to his limits—because he knew it wasn't just some gang rivalry or a madman's revenge; it was a meticulously planned execution, and there was no need to elaborate on the killer's name.
Carter Black—the city's Angel of Death.
Emma stood beside him in silence. She watched this usually tough and resilient middle-aged detective now marked by shadows of pressure on his face. Sharp's eyes were weary; his lips were tightly pressed together; veins throbbed on his forehead. He seemed like a string about to snap. What he had endured today had long surpassed what any detective should face—confronting something more terrifying than gangs and colder than criminals—yet he could only clean up after the bodies left behind without even a single clue. This sense of helplessness was gradually eroding him away.
Emma said little; she simply reached out and patted his shoulder in silence. This small gesture offered no comfort, no encouragement, and lacked any warmth, for she knew that at such times, words were unnecessary.
Sharp took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He shook his head and pressed his hand against the bridge of his nose, then compelled himself to return to a professional demeanor, his tone low yet firm. "Lower the body and take it back for examination."
The detectives on the scene immediately sprang into action. Some set up a ladder, others prepared tools, while a few busied themselves with taking notes. Minutes later, the rope was cut, and the charred body slowly descended with a faint thud, like a piece of burnt wood falling to the ground, releasing a sharp smell of charred flesh. There were no displays of emotion; no one expressed sorrow. This was neither the first time nor would it be the last.
Emma did not participate; she simply stood in place, quietly gazing at the street. The night remained heavy, with the moon hanging high in the sky, its silvery light gently spilling down and casting a hazy illusion over the entire street. This death, this judgment, this chaos that seemed endless appeared strangely distant under the moonlight, almost like an unreal dream.
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