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January 5, 1999
It's a cold dreary night in Chicago, colder because she is no longer here with me; my only company now is misery and her friend despair. All but a few of the crimson red leaves have fallen off the trees that line the empty streets; an appropriate metaphor for my life. The heavy rain hitting the window pain unrelenting as if God himself has decided to take a piss on the remnants of my life. I wake up from the same....God-damned....awful nightmare almost every night. When I'm not having nightmares; I have bouts of insomnia that last for days on end. It's my fault Zo’s dead; I wasn't there when she needed me the most. I remember everything; the floor and walls stained with her blood; the message written in her blood; her body lying lifeless on the laminated wooden floor.......everything.
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May 5, 1998
I was doing a security gig that night, protecting some snot nosed trust fund baby, the pay was fairly good, as you’d imagine, working for a guy with deep pockets, who spends money as often as he goes to the toilet, to take a piss. But if I'd known it would be at the cost of Zo’s life, I not have been there. By the time I was finished with my gig, it was around 1:35am. I was beat and couldn’t wait to get home to see Zo, she’d probably be staying up, waiting for me to walk through the door, all so she could nag at me, for being so late. I made a quick stop at a 24hr convenience store to buy a pack of smokes, for myself, and a bunch of flower’s for my wife; to ease the “verbal abuse” I was about to receive by her. A few months back, I decided to let Zoe use my car for her daily tasks, as her car had been stolen about a year prior; so for the past few months I’d been taking public transport to get to and from work.
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I fumbled around in my coat pocket for my cell-phone to call up a taxi-driver I’m familiar with. While holding my coat closed with my other arm, for warmth from the windy weather I call up Sanjeeb; a cab-driver I feel more-or-less safe with. After waiting for about 10 minutes or so, a taxi-cab stops in front of me, and I open the cab door to a familiar face. It was Sanjeeb, the friendly cab-driver who had been driving me to, and sometimes, from work. “Where to?” Sanjeeb asked me, in and Indian accent, “Home”, I replied, he knew where that was as he’d taken me there before many times. “So how’s things, Sanjeeb?” I inquired, “Not so good”, he replied with a sigh, “Why’s that?” “I haven’t been getting much passengers lately, everyone’s afraid of leaving their homes; let alone taking public transport.” “That’s understandable, seeing as the crime rate has risen substatiantially these past few months.” I replied to Sanjeeb. “Well here we are.” Sanjeeb said, smiling; slowly stopping he’s car in front of my house. “Thanks, here keep the change.”, I said as I handed Sanjeeb some money, “Thank you sir for your patronage” Sanjeeb said, as I stepped out of the cab.
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When I arrived at home, the streets were empty, not a car or person in sight, save for Sanjeeb driving off into the dark windy night. It was 2:05am on that Tuesday Morning; I Intuitively felt something was wrong, although nothing looked out of the ordinary, save for the front door of the house being wide open at two in the morning. As I approached the front door of the house, I noticed bloody shoe prints, leading from inside the house towards the outside. I then immediately rushed in to look for my wife, holding onto the vain hope that she might be unharmed, or at the very least, alive. I followed the bloody shoe prints inside the house, noticing the bloody hand prints on the wall leading upstairs; they were small hand-prints, a woman’s hand prints, “My wife’s hand prints?”, I questioning myself; perishing the thought.
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As I followed the scarlet hand prints on the wall leading upstairs, the light of hope began to wane more and more until there was nothing left but the empty void of despair. I reached the top of the stairs, my heart drops and blood immediately begins to rush away from my face. There she was, her body laying lifeless on laminated flooring, in the hallway. I check her pulse, to see if there’s any semblance of life left; there’s nothing. I hold her in my arms, fighting back the urge to cry, but it’s futile, tears begin to stream down my face, like drops of morning dew slides off the petal of a flower. I finally come to my senses and manage to hold back the tears, at least for now. “I have to pull myself together, if only for now”, I tell myself. I move away from Zo’s body and slump down against the wall beside her, taking a cigarette out of the pack I bought earlier, put it to my lips and light it up; hoping it will calm my nerves. Hundreds of different thoughts and emotions are rushing through my head as I’m sitting there slumped against the wall. “What If I hadn’t made a stop at that grocery store? Would she still be alive? Better yet, what if I hadn’t done that security gig in the first place, I would’ve been here at home and she would still be alive”
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I try to clear my mind and center myself, as I’d been taught by my sifu and mentor. After centering myself and clearing my mind, I get a strong intuitive urge, telling me to get myself up and to start examining the scene and collect evidence; I listen to it. Finishing my cig, I pull myself up from the floor and begin to make my way down stairs to fetch my equipment.
Making making my way down-stairs, a message begins to form from the blood stains on the stair-way wall. “It was the servants of the undead who hath desecrated and slain your wife. You mortal, must seek justice and divine retribution upon these agents of evil.” I just stand there on the stair-way, staring at the message in disbelief; I begin rubbing my eyes for a moment, I look up once more and the message is gone. I try and rationalize what I’d just seen a moment ago; “It must be some sort of visual hallucination, as a result of shock.” I tell myself. After-all, I’d just discovered that Zoe had been murdered. Recollecting my thoughts, I head to the basement to fetch the equipment I will be needing for the examination of the crime-scene. Forensics isn’t my speciality, but I know the basics; wear gloves, take pictures of the crime scene, collect & organize evidence. I assemble a make-shift forensics kit, from things lying around the house: Some swabs, a camera, a pair of latex gloves, some plastic bags, a pair of tweezers and a tape measure.
I’ve got to collect any possible evidence and clues the assailant(s) might have left behind. I owe at least that much to her, I’ve got to find the bastard(s) responsible. I decide that the best course of action to take for now, would be, to take pictures of the crime scene. I put my gloves on, take out my camera and begin snapping away at everything out of place, hopefully so I can piece this jigsaw puzzle together later; when my mind is clearer. I begin taking pictures of everything I feel is important, hell even the things I feel isn’t important. Every room in the house, the front entrance, the blood stained walls, the floor, the shoe prints the perpetrators left behind, her.....body...everything. I put away the camera feeling satisfied that I’ve documented everything in the house.
I head towards my drive-way, to look for any possible clues that the assailants left may have left behind. Looking down I notice two sets of skid marks, about 2 meters apart, (I could tell it was two sets by the fact that, since they were only two metres apart, it could not have belonged to a car, two motorbikes however....) in the drive-way of our house. This could only mean two things: Whoever came or, left, was in a hurry and they were driving motorbikes.. “I don’t own a motorbike, so why are there skid marks of a motorcycle in my driveway?”. I kneel down for a closer inspection of the skid marks, I see upon closer examination, that the patterns of the two set of skid marks are different; each with a different tire pattern and width to the other. These tire prints must belong to the motorcycles the assailants must’ve have been driving. Six cigarette buts are laying on the floor, near the skid marks where the motorcycles would’ve been parked. I pull my camera out of my pouch and start to snap a few pictures of the tire prints and cigarette buts.
At least one guy stayed outside as a lookout; possibly two. Judging by the amount of cigarettes laying where one of the bikes would’ve been parked, one of the drivers is a heavy smoker. Those bastards must have been in my house for sometime, and judging by the two sets of motorcycle tire prints, there were two to four of them. After taking pictures of the driveway area, I put my camera away once more. “It’s now time to collect some evidence here”, I say to myself as I take out some tweezers and a plastic bag. I pick up each cigarette butt, one after the other to see what brand they are and if they belong to the same brand. They’re all of the same brand it seems; the brand on each cigarette reads “TK’s”, a brand I’ve never heard of before, let alone smoke. I decide to bag three of the cigarette buts, leaving the other three for the police forensics team to collect.
I felt that I’d taken enough pictures, and began preparing myself for the collection of the evidence in the house. I Decide to make my way back to the house to confirm my hypothesis that there were at least to three assailants. Examining the bloody shoe prints, I see there are two different shoe patterns. The one set of shoe prints, appears to be a sneaker type shoe pattern, where as the other pattern appears to be consistent with a boot print pattern. I take out my tape measure, to measure the size of the respective shoe patterns; the sneaker pattern appears to be a size 10, whereas the boot print appears to be a size 14. Judging by the size of the sneaker print size, I estimated the assailant to be about 5”5ft to 5”9ft tall; and guessing from the size of the boot print, the assailant must be at least 6”ft tall. Seeing as there were only two sets of bloody footprints, the look-out must’ve not entered the house, at least not after Zo had started bleeding all over the place. When I was finished examining, and gathering evidence elsewhere,
I finally gathered all the resolve I could muster, to make my way to the most painful part of the crime-scene; Zo’s body. I began examining her body, (as much as it hurt me to see her in that state), for any possible evidence left behind by the killers. Her throat had been slit, her arms bruised, and she had abrasions on her wrists. Those fuckers must have tied her up by her wrists, and at some point she managed to break free. I look under her fingernails, to see if she might have been able to scratch her attackers during her struggle for her life. Fortunately I find some skin under her fingernail of her dominant hand, and taking swabs out of my pouch, I began to swabbing her fingernails. I knew she would not have given up without a fight, and I was right, she was truly a courageous woman. Fortunately there was an ample amount of skin tissue under her fingernails, I carefully placed the swabbed skin tissue in another plastic packet I had taken out of my pouch. I had some consolation knowing that the evidence I had collected, would put her murderer’s where they belong, in a hole, or so I thought. I decided that now that I was done with my own examination, I should contact the police.
(https://i.imgur.com/cHvfKiB.jpg) (https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/010/306/308/large/jun-p-w-.jpg?1523722665)
After contacting the police, they arrived shortly at the scene, the detective in charge of the crime-scene, began asking me the stereotypical questions you would hear in a detective movie: “Where were you when the crime took place?, Have you got an alibi for that?, What time did you arrive at the scene?” etc., while the forensics team began examining the crime scene. I gave the detective, copies of the photo’s I had taken of the crime scene in good faith, also giving him some of the deductions I had come up with, from my own observations and extrapolation of the crime-scene. I kept the little skin tissue I had collected earlier, as I had not taken all of the skin tissue under Zo’s fingernails in consideration of the police forensics team. After they were done examining the scene and collecting evidence, the detective in charge, said he would get back to me, if any breaks were made in the case. Days passed with no response from the police, then weeks, then months, until I started getting impatient; they should have caught the killers by now, there was more than enough evidence to find those scum-bags and put them in prison. I went to the police station to see if any progress was made with regards to my wife’s murder case. I asked the desk sergeant, If I could speak to the lead investigator of Zoe’s murder case. After waiting for some time, he comes out of his office and I hear a voice in my head whispering to me. “They’re won’t help you.” Is what It said. I put what I just heard on the back-burner of my mind. Me and the detective both step into his office and we begin exchanging words. “Why the hell haven’t you caught my wife’s killers yet”?, I asked him, in indignation.”I’m sorry the case has been closed due to insufficient evidence. Also the evidence is contaminated” he replied in a disinterested tone of voice. “Insufficient evidence? You had more than enough evidence to solve this case!” ”I’m sorry, we can’t help you” the detective told as he motioned to two police officers to escort me out of the building.
On the way to my car, It was then that I heard the same voice I heard earlier, only this time it seemed louder and clearer. “Do not fret, for these people are mere puppets, unwittingly working for those that do not live. Justice will only come by your own hands and from thy kind.” This voice, clearly directed at me, seemed reminiscent of the message that had appeared on the stair-way wall, in my house on the night of my wife’s murder. It was then that I realised that the message I had seen and the message I had heard, must be connected, and that they were no mere delusions. I decided to contact someone, a good friend I had met doing some contracting work for some alphabet-government-intelligence-agency. His name was “Frederiek Zimmerman” a forensic scientist, educated in the sphere’s of forensic science and biology.
(https://i.imgur.com/HbeYlFx.jpeg)(https://i.imgur.com/Ih8P7b2.png)
August 5, 1998
I contacted Frederiek, asking him if he would possibly do a DNA analysis on the skin tissue samples, cigarette buts, and analyze all the photographic evidence I had taken on that God-forsaken night. I awaited anxiously for two weeks for Frederiek to call, at some point losing hope, until finally, he had gotten back to me with the results. He was able to come up with a DNA match for two of the assailants, by use of the DNA Database, at the agency he had worked for. The DNA on the cigarette buts, belonged to “Monty “Mo” Lester”, a low-life who had been in and out of prison for petty crimes since his youth. The DNA taken from the skin tissue samples, belonged “Riley Dexter”, a violent and ruthless enforcer for hire, who uses multiple aliases and disguises, to avoid the police.
According to the analysis of the photographic evidence I had provided, the two sets of tire prints belonged to that of a Harley Davidson type of motorbike, and the second set, belonged to a smaller bike, a sports bike. Further analysis of the photographic evidence, along with the measurements I had taken of the shoe prints, determined that, the sneaker prints belonged to that of “Riley Dexter”, as it matched his height, the boot prints belonged to an unknown individual who’s height was estimated to be between 6”0ft. - 6”2Ft.; just as I had deduced. Thanks to Frederick Zimmerman’s help, I now had the names of at least two of the assailants, and that was all I needed to find the rest of them. Since the cops were useless, I would have to go this one alone, and exact my own personal form of justice.
September 11, 1998
After weeks spent searching for these guys, I’ve managed to track down the location of one of them; Monty Lester. I’ve managed to find the safe house he’s been hiding out at. He’s staying at some abandoned building down-town. I scoped the place out waiting for Monty to make his appearance. I waited nearly an hour before Monty finally shows up at the safe house, he’s alone. Now’s my time to get this son of a bitch, and hopefully some answers too. Now Under normal circumstances, I would’ve picked the lock and snuck in; catch him by surprise. But I was so full of anger and anticipation, that I let it cloud my judgement. I was so angry my hands were literally shaking
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All I could think of was catching this guy and making him pay for what he did. As soon as I burst through the door, he spotted me and immediately ran for the fire escape. I chased him up the fire escape, onto the rooftops into the dark moonlit night. I was chasing him for about 5 minutes or so, but it felt much longer. The sweat was dripping from my brow and I was almost completely exhausted; the only thing keeping me from giving up the chase was my strong determination to catch this fucker. Monty eventually ran out of rooftops to jump to, so I thought. The closest rooftop was about 40 metres away, a gap too far for any normal man to jump. All those weeks of sleepless nights spent searching for these guys were finally about to pay off. Then the impossible happened, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes. Monty had made a massive inhuman leap, that would’ve been impossible for any normal human being to have made. He jumped across the alleyway, a 40 metre gap over to the other rooftop. After he landed on the other side of the gap, he turned his head around to face me, and let out an arrogant laugh, before walking away.
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It was at this moment that I heard that voice once again, the same one I’ve heard once before at the police station. “Take the leap.” That was all I heard the voice say. That wasn’t reassuring. Considering that if I didn’t make it, I would probably fall to my death. I felt as if those words were meant not only literally, but figuratively as well. After a short time of contemplating whether or not to “take the leap”, I decided, ah what the hell. After-all this voice wasn’t wrong when it warned me about the cops. I backed up several metres away from the edge of the rooftop, before running faster that I’ve ever ran before; like my life depended on it (and it did). When I made the leap, I closed my eyes, thinking that this is the “do or die” moment. When I opened my eyes again, I had found myself on the other side of the gap.“Holy fuck!!” I thought out loud, utterly shocked that I made the gap; the voice was right again.
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Shrugging off my surprise, I continued to pursue Monty, who, after seeing me make the gap, had apparently decided to fight me instead, as he’d given up on trying to run. He swung at me with he’s right fist, I ducked and punched him in the gut. He then stood bent over gasping for breath. “Just give it up.”, I said. “Not gonna happen.”, He said, pulling out a knife. I stood at the edge of the roof of the building, when Monty lunged forward with his knife, I stepped to the side just in time. As I stepped side-ways, Monty couldn’t stop himself from falling off the edge of the roof, as he had put all his bodyweight into the thrust. After, hearing a loud thud, I immediately rushed down the buildings fire-escape, hoping to get some information out of Monty; he wasn’t going anywhere now. I looked around in the dark, dank, alleyway for Monty, before I hearing him coughing loudly. He was coughing up a lot of blood, and his shin-bone was sticking out of his leg, in short, he was fucked up.
“Why’d you kill my wife!! Who sent you? Answer me god-dammit!!” I grabbed his jacket, shouting at him, demanding some answers before his fast, inevitable, approaching death. “Your wife was an innocent, nothing more special than that.” He let out a loud cough of blood. “We needed, *cough* *cough*, to sacrifice an innocent, *cough* up to our Dark Lord, in order to receive our powers *cough* *cough* *cough* and celebrate his glory!!” “Where are the other two, that were with you that night!! Tell me now, asshole!!” He let out a weak laugh. “What do you hope to find, justice? Hah, *cough* *cough*, you’ll only find your death.” “Fine I’ll tell you where they are. *Cough* *cough*. At least, *cough* I’ll die with a smile on my face knowing,*cough* *Cough* *cough*, that you’re gonna die, Hahaha, *cough*.” He divulged the location of Riley Dexter, and the name of the unknown man that had been with them that night. “Oh, about that smile. I don’t think so, you don’t deserve to smile.” I said as I picked up his knife. He’s eyes widened with fear, knowing what was coming next. He tried to scream, but he could barely talk, let alone scream. I slit his throat, and watched the blood cascade down from the gash. I watched as he drowned in his own blood, and I can assure you, he didn’t die with a smile on his face. “One down” I said, thinking out loud, while wiping the blade of the knife with a handkerchief before tossing it aside in the alleyway, walking off into the inky blackness of the void.
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