Defying Terror

Chapter XIV

Capt. Brian W. Manchester, No. 002

12 August 2030 

21:24, QCT

It makes no sense.

Four deaths in the past twenty-four hours throughout the Empire. Rosa counted two in Etolunia, Mateo added another right before dinnertime here in Queen's, and Arthur just announced what is, hopefully, the last one of the night from the Meadowlands. Yesterday, the total was six, marking a slight decrease. Deaths are deaths, though. The number should be zero.

Murders occur, I get it. What is so jarring, however, is the how. It's never recurrent on the cause of death. There is no specific pattern as to how the victims were killed. It ranges from multiple stab wounds to bullet wounds to asphyxiation to... rolling up a car window with someone's head in between. James had to deal with that one.

All we know is the M.

No suspects, or should I say, no individuals. This M is the only lead we have. I suspect it's some kind of group, a cult even. There haven't been terrorists of this capacity since around the time I was born. Those guys kicked everyone out of Queen's but were driven out a year later. They didn't brand their violet mark on the arms of their victims.

What's so difficult is that we can't find any survivors. No one encounters these murderers and lives to tell about it. The only thing we know for sure is that the mark was first observed upon their discovery, not prior to their disappearance.

Boiled down, this is something we must take seriously, and we are taking every measure available to put an end to these murders as soon as possible. The problem is we can't stop it. We can't predict who goes missing next, much less who is killed. So far, none of the victims have been related close enough to predict any kind of systematic method.

And then, there's Slater. The first day I saw him again, he had that mark. He remarked that he didn't know he ever had it. This adds up to the eyewitness accounts who didn't recognize any kind of brand. What doesn't click is this: how is he still alive? How come these killers haven't come for him yet? I questioned him, constantly, asking if he knew anything. All he gave me was a shrug or a shitty response.

Three knocks shake the stagnant atmosphere of my study. The lambent desk lamp clamped onto the first shelf radiates onto my investigation notes. My black dress shoes only marginally reverberate the glare from their perch on my desk. I gnaw on the end of my pen, just before realizing I had been staring at my bookshelf for no reason for the past twenty minutes.

I circle around in my chair, toward the door. Celeste has one hand around the width, with her head poked around the side.

She grins. "Your boyfriend is here." She can't help but end the statement with a brief laugh.

I sigh, swinging my feet off of my desk. I press myself out of my burgundy, leather chair and approach the door, widening the entrance for myself. I can never get enough time to make any real breakthroughs anymore. It's all the damn same.

James closes the front door behind him and regards me instantly. "Anything?"

"What do you think?"

He flutters his head back and forth. "I was hoping someone had something."

I lead those two into the kitchen, where Celeste escapes to the living room and James navigates around the table, adjacent to the back doors. I observe on as he unravels a gargantuan scroll across the eating surface, throwing a plethora of notes and documents on top of that. It's a colossal political map of the entire Empire. It appears as if he stole it out of the archives at HQ.