At Police Station 19 on Sylvester Street, night had fallen. Chief Daniel sat in his office, tense, waiting for his coffee to cool down enough to drink.
Seriously, how does Divya drink coffee boiling hot like that? Daniel sighed, watching the thin gray steam swirl gently above the black liquid, floating in the air above his desk.
"Crimson Feather…" he muttered. Daniel was still shaken. What began as a serial murder case had escalated into something serious enough to draw the attention of the Crimson Feather Organization.
He sighed again, then—
Knock knock knock.
"Come in," he said in a rough voice.
A police officer opened the door and entered. His expression was conflicted—a mix of shock, confusion, fear, and madness. His face was pale, his mind clearly racing on how to deliver his message.
Daniel immediately sensed something was wrong. His own face darkened, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.
After a long silence, Daniel's lips trembled as he finally asked, "Speak."
The officer hesitated, then gathered himself.
"She… the new recruit… she's dead…"
The murder had taken the life of a promising assistant to the most famous detective in the country. The department's failure to protect her—or Alfred—might lead to termination. It wasn't fully their fault, but the responsibility fell on them.
"..." Daniel sat there, mouth open, stunned by the news.
"What… exactly happened?" he finally asked in a low voice.
"The detective told me… 'The mask killed Lilly'—that's what he said."
Daniel's expression mirrored the officer's confusion. How could a mask kill someone?
All they knew was that the culprit wore a mask. No one ever said the mask itself was the killer.
"Where are they now?" Daniel stood up, ready to go see things for himself.
"They're at the hospital… the one where the stabbed assistant was being treated. They're processing her body."
At the hospital, Daniel arrived at the morgue where the body lay.
"What happened?" he asked the coroner after her examination.
She took off her mask, looking frustrated and disturbed.
She sighed, then faced Daniel."She… stabbed herself with a knife. Then… it seems she jumped from a moving carriage? I don't know why anyone would do something so suicidal. Maybe she was suffering from mental illness. Could she have been seeing a psychiatrist?"
The words hit Daniel like a thunderbolt.
Suicide? A psychiatrist? But… what does this have to do with the mask? Could Alfred have…?
Suddenly, he heard soft footsteps behind him.
Tap tap tap.
Daniel turned slowly—and saw two men.
One was bandaged, wearing a wrinkled white linen shirt, uncombed green hair, and cold dark eyes.
Beside him stood a man with jet-black hair, a dark blue right eye, and a long gray coat over matching pants. His face was emotionless.
"Do you know where the officer who stabbed my assistant is?" Alfred asked calmly.
"Ah… yes. He's down that hall," Daniel said, pointing.
He didn't want to complicate things further. The best option was cooperation.
Tap tap tap.
Alfred and Javier walked toward the room at the far end of the hallway.
Daniel watched them go, frowning deeply and holding his temples.
Back at Livery City Police HQ, Clouser sat at his desk, visibly stressed about what might be happening in Santia City. The involvement of Crimson Feather meant serious trouble.
He stood and walked over to the window, staring out into the dark streets illuminated by pale orange streetlights.
Clouser was tall, with black hair and abyssal black eyes. He wore a gray coat and trousers with a crisp white shirt—his outfit strikingly similar to Alfred's.
Suddenly, the telegraph machine buzzed and printed a short message onto white paper.
"What a waste of ink~" Clouser mumbled, walking over. He was sure it was from Diana—she was always so brief.
He picked up the message with a gloved hand. The glove was black with silver embroidery.
His face darkened as he read the note—then read it again. By the end, his fingers clenched tightly, crumpling the paper.
Message:
"Tell Alfred—I'll be visiting Santia City."
Back at the hospital, Alfred and Javier walked silently toward the room at the end of the long, sterile hallway.
Neither of them spoke a word until they reached the metal door with the small eye slit.
Meanwhile, Daniel went to find the on-call psychiatrist, in case the officer inside had lost his mind.
Ever since that bizarre night, the officer had been screaming, "It's real! It really exists!" like a madman. They had locked him in the psychiatric wing in a private room.
Alfred peered through the viewing slit.
The room was dim, but not pitch dark. Light from the corridor stretched into the corner, where a man sat curled into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest like a terrified child.
His brown hair was messy, his white shirt and brown pants plain. Nothing about him resembled a police officer anymore.
Alfred gently knocked on the metal door.
The man let out a short shriek—like a mosquito buzzing past someone's ear—and recoiled in terror, shielding his face with his arm.
"I have a question," Alfred said softly. "Do you know anything about the mask?"
This man… was the only person known to have survived possession by the mask.
Alfred had been planning to withdraw from the case. But after everything that mask had done—he had started to reconsider.
"Yes… yes! The mask! I know it! I know it too well! How could I not?! I'll never forget that book! Carcosa… Carcosa is real! It's real!!" the officer shouted hysterically, like a doomsday prophet begging villagers to build a spaceship.
"The servant? Carcosa?" Javier asked in confusion, turning to Alfred. "The servant?"
He had ignored the word Carcosa before—but not now.
Wait… does he know? Could it be real? Did Alfred get his eye from there?!Javier's mind spun with questions.
Are Crimson Feather members descendants of that kingdom? Or did they live there themselves?! His thoughts spiraled.
"Yes! Yes! The Servant of the King! No one else wears a mask—at least, not that mask! A yellow mask with Carcosa's stars! That's him! Koroliga!"
The more the officer raved, the more hysterical he became.
Javier's thoughts grew darker. Alfred was connecting threads in his mind.
I was right. This is either an ancient artifact user—or something far worse. I need help from Crimson Feather… immediately.
"Koroliga? Is that the name of the murderer we're after?" Javier wondered, feeling a growing dread.
"How do you know all this?" Alfred asked again.
"The library! Herdez Library on 15 Cessimer Street! Third shelf of the fifth row! I'll never forget it! That book must stay there!!"
Before he could say more, the psychiatrist entered with a tranquilizer. After a struggle, he managed to inject the sedative.
"Wh-What happened?" Daniel asked nervously as he arrived.
"It's confirmed," Alfred replied, turning away. "The police at 19 Sylvester Street are to step aside. The Crimson Feather will take over from here."
"Uh…" Daniel tried to form words, but ultimately said nothing as he watched Javier follow Alfred out.