Chapter Twenty Five - Surrounded from All Sides

  In this world full of filth, there has always been a constant that operated behind everything – power corrupts. Whoever tasted power for the first time thought of how to use it for their benefits, and that is corruption. With power, the other follows a few steps behind, and that exact thing is now wrapping around me.

  I have gravely underestimated the scenario I am now in. There is no reasonable option for me to explore, as Debrief now rules with an iron fist over everything I am allowed to do. As long as I am a detective, he wins – there is no room to alter that fact. He truly is like a serpent, constricting around my neck, and watching me suffer. Additionally, my whole day was accompanied by melancholic sighs and disheartening views, for there was a dead end ahead of me and my destined path.

  Talking with Sylphie felt aimless, as if she couldn’t possibly offer anything valuable to the cause. Of course, that wasn’t her fault, not even remotely close to that. I felt my forgetfulness starting to settle in, and certain facts from the case eluded my mind.

  I was back to clicking my pen vehemently, just as it once was when I picked up MC-13. I clicked it once, and then again, and again. It was the only sound suppressing the screaming void inside my head, which only served to prevent me from concentrating. At least this way, I could finally think, but even that was useless, as there was nothing to think about. This is a dead end like no other, as all of my options result in failure. I could accept Debrief’s deal, and lead the investigation like before, only difference being is that it would not be my whole doing anymore. However, on the other hand, I could refuse the deal, but what would that accomplish in the long term? My investigation would go on unopposed, until on a random day, Debrief swoops in to take the credit. Needless to say, neither of these options are desirable.

  My unrest grew louder and louder. One thing I forgot to mention – that other noise. Ever since I woke up from those deep injuries, another noise rang loudly in the back of my head. However, unlike the droning sounds of the void, this one seemed more psychedelic, as if it wasn’t coming from within me. Every once in a while, a barrage of church bells echoed throughout my whole body, permeating a sensed vibration. They rang once every few seconds, and the interval was just far apart enough for me to not get used to it. The noise was loud, and the fact that it had no physical source was no good sign. These are the symptoms of audible hallucinations – my health is starting to deteriorate.

  The bell rings, rousing me from concentration. I click my pen, attempting to rekindle the focus. The bell rings, and the process repeats. I felt so helpless, utterly unable to do even the simplest thing such as focusing on my thoughts. And even as I thought about my inabilities, the bells continued to clang, becoming yet another constant of my life. I was on the verge of breaking down, but it felt so absurd that mere sounds were enough to shake my resolve.

  No, it isn’t just these inner sounds. I was being watched – surveilled for one’s own benefits. I knew not who was laying their gaze on me, yet their eyes were everywhere. Was it my rival, who resents the idea of being below me, and my person as a whole? Or was it that figure I forced myself to think exists? The gaze belonged to someone, the eyes wouldn’t stare for no reason. Along all four of these walls, these eyeballs are focused entirely on me, and nothing else.

  The bells ring. The pen clicks. The eyes blink. Silence. The clock audibly ticks. The bells ring. Silence. The pen clicks. The bells. The eyes. Silence.

  I was succumbing to my own sanity, or lack thereof. The snare I have been caught in sucked all joy of success out of me. Yes, a few days ago, I was still expressing joy over the capture of the Face. But now, knowing that even that led to nowhere, I felt absolutely hopeless. Not only did I struggle to commit to being a detective, but even my own world was starting to crumble. It’s been almost a week since the last time I even saw Debrief, and his absence is only physical. I can feel him everywhere I look, as if he never left. This must be his gaze, and the aftereffects of his doing – his manipulation. This was no longer a time-sensitive chase to find the Flawless, but a mental undertaking that sorely burdens my already-failing consciousness. I just feel pitiful, why do I feel so inept? Was it the crushing weight of my circumstances, finally setting in?

  One time, Faust told me an interesting saying. It only takes one bad day for even the best person to go insane. I must have already experienced that day. It wasn’t the day I got stabbed into my shoulder and fell face-first into concrete. It also wasn’t the day Debrief antagonized himself. Neither was it the day my body parts were mutilated relentlessly. No, it was none other than the day that scoundrel detective revealed his true colors. That meeting in that sorry café – it left a more apparent mark on me than I thought it would.

  No, I have had enough of this charade. The pen was a distraction. The bells were a nuisance. The eyes were a mere interference. I walked out of my office, and kept walking out of the precinct. I needed to clear my head fast before this spiraled out of control. The first thing I noticed on the outside was yet another downpour – something that I encountered each time I was at a crossroads. This time, it felt especially heavy, but that may be the effect of my state of mind, and not the amount of rain. Regardless, I walked and walked, until I arrived at a landmark I have heard once before, Lunerise Bridge. It was the place where Watkins had jumped from to release himself and his troubles. Long supporting beams with large cables spanned the sides of the bridge, reaching several tens of meters into the sky. Cars were passing by incessantly, creating a sizeable cacophony of revving engines and turning wheels. At least it was better than the mind-numbing assortment of noises from before.

  One thing became clear to me as I walked here – I only had one shot. One shot, because Debrief would make his move soon after my failure. One shot, because the Flawless would make his getaway. One shot, because I can’t take any more beatings. Time after time, the case becomes more complicated and harder to solve. However, I remain in the same headspace, and the gap between my abilities and the requirements widens.

  That is precisely why there are but two choices -stagnation, and procession. I can choose to remain the way that I am, rendering me unable to solve the case, but ultimately, I will be happier. Forfeiting my burdens would alleviate my troubles. Furthermore, I can choose procession, where I would have to refine and polish myself, which would lead to progress. Yes, with how I currently am, there is nothing for me to achieve. Everything is out of my reach like this.

  Then, what choice should I make? Stagnation – to leave behind my woes, and to admit defeat? Or procession – to admit imperfection, and push harder than ever before? Considering these two options, stagnation is the easiest way out, the path of least hardship. However, procession is always the opposite, requiring utmost perfection and performance. It is no walk in the park, and more suffering will be met, but knowing who I am, it is the path that I wish to take. Yes, that is what I wish to do. I need to become perfect. I need to become Flawless.

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  Where would the Flawless hide from me? The whole city is in my reach, and as long as he remains here, I can find him. No, that is a sign of weakness – even if he flees Misult City, I will find him. I have no other options. If I wish to take the path of procession, I have to accept the trials and tribulations it has to offer.

  Don’t let yourself be overcome with doubt ever again. You only have one shot left, and you’re not going to waste it so easily. Now – think. Where would the Flawless be hiding? Think, think harder than ever before. He needs a base for his operations, someplace large and available. Remember, he is an artist, and artists have showrooms. Picture it before you – a photo cellar, covered from bottom to top in photographs of his victims. It must be somewhere like that – a room with no natural light. An attic, or perhaps a cellar? A house, a residence large enough to conduct organized murder. No, that is too specific. Any place that could house a vast number of photos could fit the criteria. However, that is not enough. I need to magnify our focus to utmost perfection. I only have one shot, and I need do spend it in one place.

  It is a shame that the trail of Raziel Seishi ceased to exist twenty-six years ago. His identity is probably unknown to the world, and searching for him under his name will probably yield zero results. It is honestly laughable – I know his name, I know his past, I captured his subordinate, and I know about everything he is. How is it then, that I cannot for the life of me figure out where he could be? Maybe asking where is not the right thing to be looking for. Perhaps looking for the when would be more valid. What if we simply caught him in the act of killing? No, that is too narrow-minded. The Flawless would certainly be cautious after losing the Face, and after failing to kill his aunt. He may follow a strict set of rules for his way of killing, but it is not like he relies on it. His murders are for pure satisfaction, but as he demonstrated with his attempt at killing Heather, he has no qualms killing outside his wants.

  If only there was a way to predict where he would strike. That is the one thing I wished for since the start – preemptive action. However, there was no chance that it could be done. Furthermore, it would be the same as finding him directly. It would require narrowing it down from the million residents of Misult City down to a single person. Thinking about it more, perhaps it would be easier to work with a predictable subject – the victims. There was a period of a few years where the Flawless attacked older couples and families, presumably for some kind of purpose. But what was that purpose? Initially, I assumed that he wanted to portray the resemblance of the victims and his parents, but now, why would he not do that all the time? If relishing the pain he inflicted on his oppressors was the only reason he started killing in the first place, why did the conditions change over time? That is something that I cannot understand probably. The minds of artists are rarely coherent for ordinary people.

  Regardless, I have a feeling that there is some merit to this line of thought. What if the Flawless killed those victims for another purpose than his projection? That period took about two years to conclude, and it ended very abruptly. There must have been a reason to do so – a goal of his has been met, perhaps?

  Is this really what I should be focusing on? I’ve been following breadcrumbs since the start, and there isn’t anything else to follow. Unlike some other cases I have encountered where they resemble a branching intersection, MC-13 is more like a curved line, and the objective is to follow it to the end. The Flawless is dealing with the detectives after him with radio silence – he is confident that no traces of his are available to us, and that is why he saw no need to create false evidence or leads.

  Then, it is settled. I will investigate the end of his abrupt conduct from five or six years ago, when the Flawless killed parents in families. There is no telling that it will help me come to a conclusion, though, and it may very well be a dead end. I can only cling to the hope that it will lead somewhere. What I wish to discover through this is the choice of victims – one of the last few things I am missing.

  I was few moments away from deciding my next course of action, but a familiar figure approached me from the corners of my sight. The umbrella she held, protecting her from the heavy rainfall, concealed her whole body from the angle that I saw, and any doubts about her identity vanished.

  “Sylphie went out looking for you after you ran away, but got lost on the way.”

  “Oh, sorry, Sylphie – I got carried away.”

  “Lies. your eyes were completely bloodshot and unfocused before you sprinted out of the room.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to respond to that at first, as it was exactly what happened.

  “I needed a moment to think,” I muttered to myself.

  “Oh no – not this again. Sylphie reminds you to take care of yourself.”

  “There is no time for that. Debrief is going to strike if I drop my guard for even a second.”

  That was the weight of my world right now, it was under the mercy of Executive Director Debrief, who had the power and capacity to halt my procession whenever he desired. I was forced to do exactly what he wanted me to do, and that was to investigate MC-13 until its completion. As soon as that is done, I am as good as gone for him.

  She tapped on my back. “Sylphie understands – that weirdo is an extremely unusual specimen.”

  “Yeah, I can’t do anything as long as he’s around.”

  She decided to join me to watch over the bridge’s railings, as if she had some of her own things to think about. I promptly took the umbrella from her after she offered it to me, and held it in between us, providing cover from the rain for the both of us.

  “You know, there is one thing Sylphie refused to tell you up until now.”

  “Huh?” I let out a sound of bewilderment.

  Just like that, she abruptly told me something crucial. That single sentence woke me up from my concentrated state, and I could only stare at Sylphie, who still kept her neutral face despite this.

  “Remember the detectives that were contacted directly by the Flawless?” She exclaimed, holding her pointer finger up.

  “Yeah? What about them?”

  “Sylphie never told you the method under which they were contacted.”

  I was too caught up in thinking why Sylphie would hide such an important piece of information, and so I failed to see the insinuation she made.

  “The Flawless has already contacted you, Detective.”

  “What? When?”

  “Have you not noticed? I suppose not. Sylphie had to check your mail for you in these last few days.”

  That is true – checking the mail was the least of my worries. Today’s day was May 25th, and that made me realize how little I advanced recently. Since the capture of the Face, I only stood still, hesitatingly finding flaws in my own thinking, instead of doing. Regardless, is she suggesting that there is an actual letter from the man himself?

  “Sylphie even brought it to you – here. It arrived shortly after the defeat of that brutish girl,” she said, handing me a letter.

  I inspected it for a second, only to find that there is only the recipient, and no sender. That would have been too easy, and it is also one of the easiest things to fake. Either way, this could be anything, but definitely not something positive. I am the man destined to end the Flawless – I’m sure we have nothing to exchange together. I then opened the letter, and sunk my eyes into its contents.