Chapter 1: Chapter 001: The masked blonde killer.
"P-please don't shoot..."
The frantic cry pierced the night, chilling Pamela to the bone. Moonlight, filtered through the skeletal branches of the park trees, cast an eerie glow. Doing little to penetrate the gathering darkness. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision further. Sniffling, she wiped them away with a trembling hand.
Briefly, she'd entertained the notion that a late-night film shoot was underway, but the park would have posted notices about any such activity. Deciding it was best to head home, she turned and began to walk back the way she came.
Another choked plea, closer this time, sent a jolt of fear through her. "P-please... I have a family..." It came from within the park's boundaries. Panic surged. Weren't the gates locked after dark? Stealing a glance at her phone, she confirmed her worst fear. It was well past eleven, past the city's curfew.
Venturing out after curfew wasn't Pamela's usual habit. But the doctor's report she'd received earlier that evening had left her emotionally drained. Seeking solace in a solitary walk, she hadn't realised how far she'd strayed. With a deep breath, she tried to calm the frantic pounding of her heart.
Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she froze. The shrill ring shattered the tense silence. Before she could glance at the screen, a deafening gunshot echoed through the night. The phone clattered to the ground, the plastic casing cracking against the concrete path.
Terror propelled her backwards. Scrambling on her hands and knees, she ignored the sting of gravel against her skin. Discarded drums, relics of a long-forgotten children's play area, offered a flimsy shield. Hiding within their hollow bellies, she held her breath, the frantic drumbeat of her heart threatening to burst from her chest. Peeking through a sliver of space between the rusted metal, she caught a glimpse of two figures clad in black. Their faces were obscured by shadows, but identical haircuts and the glint of matching pistols sent shivers down her spine.
One of them snatched her phone from the ground, the pink glitter case a stark contrast against his gloved hand. "Looks like a girl's," he muttered, his voice a gravelly rasp. Pamela watched, heart hammering against her ribs, as he fiddled with her phone for a moment before tossing it back onto the path with a nonchalant flick of his wrist.
The sound of their retreating footsteps was music to her ears. Relief flooded her system, a fragile hope blossoming in her chest. Maybe she'd escape this nightmare unscathed.
But then, another shot shattered the fragile peace. A muffled scream followed, a sound that sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over her. Surely, the first gunshot fired during curfew would have alerted the police? Yet, there was no sign of flashing blue lights, no distant wail of sirens.
Curiosity, a morbid fascination, warred with her fear. She peeked out once more, witnessing a scene straight out of her worst nightmares. Two figures emerged from the park, dragging limp bodies behind them. They were followed by two more men, their faces obscured by darkness except for the glint of their guns. Last came a figure, unlike the others. He was dressed in a sharp suit, his hair gleaming silver in the moonlight.
The bodies were dumped unceremoniously beside an overflowing bin. Then, with a flurry of activity, the men piled into two sleek black cars that had been hidden in the shadows of the park and sped away, leaving Pamela alone with the chilling silence and the weight of what she had just witnessed.
Scrambling to her feet, Pamela bolted from the makeshift shelter of the drums. She picked her phone and it clattered in her shaking hand, the insistent beeping from it urging her forward. Fear propelled her, lungs burning as she sprinted blindly through the deserted park. Every rustle of leaves, every flicker of shadow sent a fresh jolt of terror through her.
Finally, she forced herself to slow, gasping for breath. Her phone, still clutched tightly, continued its frantic electronic chirping. Hesitantly, she brought it up to her face, the screen glaring accusingly back at her. It wasn't a regular notification –a progress bar was filling the screen, accompanied by a high-pitched whine. Hacking. Panic surged through her again, hotter and more immediate than the fear of pursuit.
Her fingers flew across the screen, desperately trying to counter the intrusion. Years of experience with firewalls and encryption flashed through her mind, but the attack seemed to anticipate every move. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs as the progress bar inched closer to completion. A digital voice, cold and emotionless, began a five-second countdown.
"Wait... no-no-" she choked out, a desperate plea lost in the electronic din. The timer reached zero with a chilling beep. She braced herself for the inevitable, but what followed wasn't what she expected. Instead of a barrage of stolen data or corrupted code, a blinding white light erupted from the phone. The force of the miniaturized explosion sent her flying backwards, a choked scream escaping her lips before everything went black.
________
Pain, a dull throbbing that resonated through every fibre of her being, dragged Pamela back to consciousness. She squeezed her eyes shut, flinching away from the harsh fluorescent lights that assaulted her vision.
"Easy there." A gentle voice soothed her, the sound vaguely familiar.
With a supreme effort, she cracked open her eyes, vision blurry and disoriented. A white-coated figure stood beside her bed, his face obscured by a mask. Tentatively, she tried to shift, wincing as her body protested with a symphony of aches and pains.
"Is she awake?" A second voice called from somewhere beyond the sterile white walls.
"I think so," the first voice replied. His tone was calm, professional.
Pamela managed to focus on a figure standing in the doorway, shrouded in darkness. As her vision cleared, a jolt of shock went through her. Mr Brown, her stern, perpetually disgruntled boss, stood there, his face etched with a mixture of concern and annoyance.
"Boss - Mr Brown?" she stammered, her voice hoarse. Panic clawed at her throat. How did she get here?
He didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on her. Finally, he spoke, his voice clipped. "Save your strength, Pamela."
Confused by his cold tone, she shifted her focus to the doctor. "What happened?"
The doctor stepped forward, consulting a chart at the foot of the bed. He glanced up at Mr Brown, then back at Pamela. "You were injured in an explosion. You've been unconscious for a week."
"Explosion?" she echoed, bewildered. "But-"
"An undistinguished blast, according to the report," the doctor continued, cutting her off. "It seems to have triggered an episode of your condition. Luckily, you're relatively stable now. You can be discharged this afternoon if you're feeling up to it, or we can run some further tests and keep you overnight."
"I'm fine, doctor," she said quickly, stealing a glance at Mr Brown. He was watching her intently, his expression unreadable.
The doctor nodded, scribbling something on the chart. "Alright then. I'll have the nurse prepare your discharge papers." With that, he turned and exited the room.
Silence descended once more, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of a nearby monitor. Pamela shifted uncomfortably in the bed, her gaze fixed on the locked door.
Suddenly, Mr Brown leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. "You never learn, do you, Pamela?" He sounded weary, but there was a hint of underlying anger.
She flinched under his gaze. "It wasn't me, my phone– it just exploded," she explained hurriedly. "I was just... taking a walk."
"At eleven pm, past curfew? You know the risks involved with your condition, and the toll it takes on your body. Imagine my surprise when I see a news report about two dead men and a dying girl, only to realize it's you." He took a deep breath, his anger momentarily quelled.
The remorse in her voice was unmistakable. "I'm sorry for keeping you worried," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Mr. Brown took a deep breath, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment longer than necessary. "Just don't do it again," he muttered finally, the edge coming off his voice. He met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he straightened.
Something was bothering him, Pamela noticed. She hesitated, then spoke tentatively. "Is everything alright?"
He blinked, seemingly surprised by the question. "Uh, yeah," he stammered, looking away for a moment. "It's just... your report. I didn't mean to pry, but when they brought you in, your clothes were soaked. They gave me your things."
A cold dread settled in Pamela's stomach. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum solo in the sterile silence of the room. She swallowed hard, forcing a nonchalant shrug. "It's no big deal," she tried to say, her voice wavering slightly. "The medication's been losing its effectiveness for the past five years. I knew this day would come eventually."
Mr. Brown seemed to accept this explanation, though a sliver of doubt lingered in his eyes. He cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, since you've got an hour before you leave, I better get going. Elizabeth's flying in from the airport. She's spending a month with me instead of my wife, can you believe it?" A hint of genuine excitement coloured his voice.
Pamela couldn't help but smile. "About time," she teased, rolling her eyes playfully. "She's your daughter, but the mother isn't your wife. Knocking her up at twenty doesn't mean you get a gold star for fatherhood now that you're forty-one and single, while she's happily married with two extra kids."
Mr. Brown chuckled, a touch of defensiveness in his tone. "It doesn't matter," he insisted, rising to his feet and checking his watch. "What matters is that she loves me more."
Pamela let out a soft laugh, the image of her stoic boss yearning for his daughter's affection warming her heart. She closed her eyes as he leaned down and gave her a brief, paternal kiss on the forehead. "Take care of yourself, Pamela," he said gruffly before turning and leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
A few minutes later, Pamela buzzed the nurse and requested an early discharge. Technically, it wasn't quite an hour yet, but she felt well enough to leave, and the sterile white walls were starting to feel like a prison. The nurse, after confirming with the doctor and verifying that her bill had been settled -courtesy of Mr Brown, no doubt, readily processed the paperwork.
Taking a taxi back to her apartment, Pamela felt a pang of guilt as she spotted her neighbour, Mrs Rachel, feeding her cat on the stairs. Completely forgetting about her cat, Meimei, in the chaos of the past few days, she scrambled out of the cab and rushed over.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rachel," she greeted breathlessly, her eyes flitting between the woman and her confused-looking feline companion.
"Oh, Pamela! Thank goodness you're alright," Mrs Rachel exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron. "Mr. Brown stopped by and mentioned your accident. He unlocked your apartment and asked me to look after Meimei while you were gone."
Pamela scooped up the disgruntled cat, showering her with apologies and thanked Mrs Rachel. Unlocking her door, she stepped inside and gently placed Meimei on the floor. First things first, she thought, heading straight for her computer.
Whatever had been planted in her phone had triggered the hack and subsequent explosion. With a sigh, she connected the phone to her computer, the limitations of a hospital bed still fresh in her mind. Meimei rubbed against her legs, demanding attention, but Pamela was lost in the digital world.
She began her investigation, first identifying the object embedded in her phone. It was high-level tech, expertly designed to be untraceable. Frustration bubbled up inside her as she hit a dead end. Switching gears, she decided to research the two men from the park.
Unearthing their names was a small victory, but their backgrounds were a complete blank slate. It was as if they had never existed. A shiver ran down her spine. This whole situation was becoming increasingly unsettling.
Miles away, in a luxurious office overlooking a glittering cityscape, a young man slammed his fist down on the desk playfully before speaking. "Young master Cyprian, Someone is searching for your information."
"Shut them down."
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone