The night was quiet, save for the rhythmic tapping of keys on a laptop. Jennifer, an investigative journalist known for her relentless pursuit of the truth, sat at her desk under the dim light of her lamp. It was past midnight. She had been working for hours on a secret that could shake the underworld, her brow furrowed in concentration.
A sudden noise broke her focus. It came from the kitchen-a faint metallic clatter. Jennifer froze, her pulse quickening. She rose cautiously, her bare feet silent against the floorboards. The kitchen was dark, a shadowed void. She reached for the light switch, her hand trembling slightly. Before her fingers touched it, a powerful hand seized her wrist, and another clamped over her mouth.
She tried to scream, but only muffled sounds escaped. Panic surged through her as she struggled against the attacker. Summoning her strength, she kicked backward, hitting his leg hard. The man grunted, stumbling, and they both fell to the floor. Gasping, Jennifer scrambled toward her room, desperate for air. She inhaled in sharp, panicked breaths, her vision
blurring. For a moment, she thought she could escape.
But before she could scream, the attacker leapt at her again.
This time, he was merciless. He pressed a cloth over her mouth, cutting off her voice. The scent of the Keat Flower filled her senses, sweet and deadly. She fought with every ounce of her being, clawing at his hands, but her strength faded. Her limbs weakened, her world spinning. The man tightened the cloth, suffocating her cries, until her body went limp.
With cold precision, he tied the cloth tighter, ensuring she could not breathe. He dragged her lifeless body into her room, securing a rope around her neck. Under the dim glow of her computer screen, he hung her from the ceiling fan, her eyes staring blankly into the void.
The attacker turned to her laptop. Lines of code and open files flashed on the screen, revealing fragments of the secret Jennifer had uncovered. Without hesitation, he deleted everything- every article, every photo, every lead. Within minutes, her months of work vanished. The room was left silent, the only sound the slow creak of the fan.
When he was done, he left without a trace, disappearing into the night.
The next morning, Jennifer's boyfriend arrived at her house. He had been worried when she hadn't answered his calls. The front door was unlocked, slightly ajar. He stepped inside, calling her name. No answer. The house was eerily quiet.
He entered her room-and froze. There she was, hanging from the ceiling fan, her lifeless body swaying slightly. The scene was grotesque, the silence deafening. He stumbled back, his hands trembling as he pulled out his phone. His voice broke as he called the police, his cry echoing through the empty house. Detective Cherry arrived at the scene shortly after. Her eyes were sharp, scanning every detail, every angle. She knelt beside the body, studying the marks on Jennifer's neck, the scattered papers, the wiped computer. Something wasn't right. This wasn't suicide-it was murder.
Her first suspect was Jennifer's boyfriend. At the station, she questioned him with calm precision, her voice steady. "How long have you been together? Did she have enemies? Where were you last night?" His answers came between sobs, his grief raw and unfiltered. Cherry watched him carefully, reading his every movement. Despite her initial suspicion, she believed his pain was genuine. She released him, but not without noting to keep an eye on him.
As Cherry drove back, she noticed a suspicious car tailing her. Every turn she made, it followed. She increased her speed; so did they. Then, without warning, the car surged ahead and vanished into the night. Unease settled in her chest.
At home, she spread out all the evidence: the postmortem report, the friends' numbers, the fragments of Jennifer's investigation. She leaned back, piecing the puzzle together. Suddenly, pain exploded at the back of her head-an iron rod striking with brutal force. Darkness engulfed her.
She awoke groggy, her head throbbing. Her hands and legs were tied, her mouth gagged. Cold water lapped at her skin --she was in her bathtub, the tap running. A man in dark clothes stood over her, his face hidden. Without a word, he turned the tap fully open and left, the water rising steadily.
Cherry's heart pounded. She twisted, reaching for the small knife she always kept in her back pocket. Straining, she cut through the ropes, freed her mouth, and slipped out of the tub, water splashing onto the floor. Silent as a shadow, she crept toward the man, who was rifling through her evidence.
She lunged, knife aimed at his back, but he spun at the last second. The two clashed in a vicious fight, exchanging blows in the narrow hallway. The man was skilled, almost as trained as she was. Cherry blocked his strikes, countered with precision. Finally, she slashed deep into his leg. He cried out, stumbling back. Bleeding, he escaped through the window, disappearing into the night.
Exhausted, Cherry leaned against the wall, catching her breath. She knew now-this wasn't just a case. She was being hunted. Alone, she wouldn't survive. She picked up her phone with trembling hands and called her trusted partner, Detective Kail.
When he answered, she said only one thing: "I need your help. They're coming for me."
Early the next morning, she drove to the railway station to pick up her partner, Detective Kail. He noticed her injuries immediately.
Kail: "They came after you?"
Cherry: "Yes, and they'll come again. We need to move fast."
As Cherry drove back, she noticed a suspicious car tailing her. Every turn she made, it followed. She increased her speed; so did they. Then, without warning, the car surged ahead and vanished into the night. Unease settled in her chest.
At home, she spread out all the evidence: the postmortem report, the friends' numbers, the fragments of Jennifer's investigation. She leaned back, piecing the puzzle together. Suddenly, pain exploded at the back of her head-an iron rod striking with brutal force. Darkness engulfed her.
She awoke groggy, her head throbbing. Her hands and legs were tied, her mouth gagged. Cold water lapped at her skin --she was in her bathtub, the tap running. A man in dark clothes stood over her, his face hidden. Without a word, he turned the tap fully open and left, the water rising steadily.
Cherry's heart pounded. She twisted, reaching for the small knife she always kept in her back pocket. Straining, she cut through the ropes, freed her mouth, and slipped out of the tub, water splashing onto the floor. Silent as a shadow, she crept toward the man, who was rifling through her evidence.
Together, they headed to the police station to demand answers. But instead of support, they were met with resistance. The chief coldly informed them the case was closed. Jennifer's death, he claimed, was a suicide. Any further investigation was a waste of time.
Cherry's anger boiled. She slammed her hand on the desk.
Cherry: "This was murder, and you know it."
The chief didn't budge. As they left, a nervous constable pulled them aside, whispering that someone had bribed the inspector earlier that morning to close the case. The name of the man who delivered the bribe remained unknown, but the warning was clear: they were dealing with powerful enemies.
When Cherry and Kail returned to her house, they began clearing the mess left by the attacker. While checking under the couch, Kail's hand brushed against something-a black card with a red emblem shaped like an "X."
Kail: "What's this?"
Cherry took the card, examining it. Bold letters read: X-BAR - Access Only - Underground Fighting Club.
Cherry: "The attacker must have dropped it. This isn't just a bar; it's where they operate."
They exchanged a look. The discovery changed everything.
That night, as they prepared for their next move, Kail pocketed the card. The air was heavy with tension, but also with resolve.
Kail: "Then that's where we go."
Cherry nodded. The dark world of X-Bar awaited them, a place where danger ruled and answers hid behind blood and shadows.
End of Chapter 1