The air inside the Liverpool Police Department was thick with the scent of coffee, old paper, and the faint traces of rain drifting in from the open windows. Officers moved busily through the halls, their hurried footsteps echoing off the polished floors. Conversations layered over one another—some discussing minor thefts, others whispering about the growing terror that loomed over the United Kingdom.
Inside the Commissioner's Office, the atmosphere was different. Quieter. Heavier.
Alexander Bluestone sat in one of the high-backed leather chairs, his fingers absentmindedly brushing against the golden pocket watch that rested in his vest. The dim light overhead cast a sharp glow on his dark brown hair, the single green streak catching the light whenever he moved. His sapphire-blue eyes were sharp, scanning every inch of the room with an almost predatory focus.
His attire was a reflection of both precision and power—a finely tailored dark overcoat draped over his shoulders, its heavy fabric structured yet effortless in how it settled against him. Beneath it, he wore a three-piece wool suit, the deep charcoal color accentuating his sharp frame. A flat cap rested atop his head, casting a slight shadow over his piercing gaze. His white dress shirt was crisp, paired with a navy vest and a dark tie, knotted just tight enough to signify discipline. Tucked neatly inside his vest pocket was his signature golden pocket watch, its chain glinting faintly under the dim lighting.
Across from him sat Commissioner Mark Alberton—the man responsible for leading the nation's fight against crime. To any outsider, he appeared calm, collected, and authoritative, his dark black eyes giving away nothing. But Alexander had long since learned that everyone wears a mask in this line of work.
Mark leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the polished wooden desk. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain weight behind his voice when he finally spoke.
"The Grim Reaper isn't just a criminal anymore, Alexander. He's turning into something bigger—an idea. A symbol of fear. And we both know how dangerous that can be."
Alexander didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached for the newspaper resting on the desk between them—the same one he had seen in his office the night before. His eyes lingered on the chilling headline.
"THE GRIM REAPER STRIKES AGAIN – ANOTHER BODY FOUND."
He set the paper down. "How many now?"
Mark exhaled slowly. "Nine. And counting."
A brief silence followed. Rain tapped against the window, mirroring the unease that settled between them.
Alexander adjusted his coat, the fabric settling neatly against his shoulders. "He's careful. Precise. He doesn't kill without reason." His voice was low, measured. "What do we know about the victims?"
Mark slid a folder across the desk. "Different backgrounds. No obvious connections. But..." He hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly. "He leaves the same message at every scene. You've seen it."
Alexander already knew the words. "Death is inevitable."
Mark nodded grimly. "It's psychological. He wants control—wants people to feel powerless. We need to stop this before he escalates even further."
Alexander leaned back slightly, fingers still resting against his pocket watch. "You want me to hunt him down."
Mark met his gaze. "I don't just want you to, Alexander. I'm counting on you. You're the only one who can match him."
A challenge.
Alexander's lips curled into the faintest trace of a smile. "Then let's begin."