Rain drizzles under flickering streetlights. Police tape flutters in the wind. A body lies on the cold pavement — a single shoe print stamped on the chest.
Stephen Colbert, mid-30s, sharp-eyed detective in a black coat, kneels by the body. James Miller, his younger, impulsive partner, approaches with a flashlight.
James:
Hey, Stephen. Any trace you got?
Stephen:
Just a little dirt… and a shoe print on the chest.
James:
Who even could've done this?
Stephen:
My guess — one of the gang leaders. But which one? There are two fighting for control of this area.
James:
You think it's the bike gang again?
Stephen:
Could be. For now, let's let the body freeze. Ambulance should be here any minute.
Stephen removes his gloves and stands. Sirens echo in the distance.
James:
Hey, Stephen — got a bottle of water for you.
Stephen:
Thanks.
An ambulance driver walks up, clipboard in hand.
Driver:
Detective, your name again?
Stephen:
Stephen Colbert.
Driver:
Got it. And you, sir?
James:
James Miller.
Stephen:
Make sure the body goes straight to police custody. We'll take it from there.
James:
So what's next
Scene 2 — Police Forensics Office, Late Night
The rain hasn't stopped. Stephen drives through the wet streets, city lights reflecting off his windshield. He parks, gets out, and walks into the dimly lit precinct. The hum of machines and the faint smell of coffee fill the air.
Lisa, early 30s, the lab technician, is at her desk surrounded by monitors and evidence photos.
Stephen:
Tell me, Lisa — you find anything weird about the body?
Lisa:
Yeah. If you look at the metal traces and bone fractures, the victim's face was struck by something heavy — maybe a hockey stick… or something similar.
Stephen:
Hmm… personally, I think it was a tactical rod. Clean hit, strong precision. Not random.
James (leaning against the doorframe):
These cases are something, huh?
Stephen looks up at him, tired but calm.
Stephen:
You should rest for now. It's late, and you're new to this.
James:
No, I'm fine.
Stephen:
You should. You're looking dull, James.
James sighs, nods slightly.
James:
Alright. I'll catch a nap.
Stephen turns back to the evidence board — photos, maps, gang symbols connected with red string.
Stephen (muttering):
Still no trace, huh? Let's see if we can find something… trace
The camera slowly zooms in on the photo as a low, tense soundtrack begins.
CUT TO BLACK.
Scene 3 — The Next Morning — On the Road
The sun rises weakly over the gray skyline. Stephen and James drive through the quiet streets, coffee cups in hand.
Stephen:
You sleep well, James?
James:
Yeah… it was great. [sighs] You?
Stephen:
Barely. I've been going through the reports. I think this murder ties back to one of the local gangs.
James:
Which ones?
Stephen:
Three operate in this area — the Speed Demons, Fixie Goons, and Velocity Crew.
Speed Demons have history — weapons trade, assaults. But the other two... we don't have clearance to touch them yet.
James:
So you think one of them did it?
Stephen:
Most likely. But I'll need traces — witnesses, camera footage, anything.
For now, we're heading to the victim's sister's house — Amelia Garcia.
James looks out the window, thoughtful.
James:
It's messed up, man. So many people dying like this… I wish I could help them more.
Stephen:
You will. Give it time. It becomes routine — not that it ever stops hurting… but you learn to live with it.
They pull up to a small house on a quiet street. Stephen and James step out, their coats swaying in the morning wind.
Stephen rings the bell. A woman's voice comes from inside.
Amelia (through the door):
Who is it?
Stephen:
FBI. We're here to ask you some questions about your brother — Henry Garcia.
The door creaks open. Amelia Garcia, mid-20s, red-eyed and trembling, stares at them.
Amelia (crying):
Why didn't you save him? Why him?
Stephen's face softens.
Stephen:
I'm sorry for your loss, Amelia. We're doing everything we can to find who did this. I promise you — we'll bring them to justice.
Amelia wipes her tears, nodding slowly.
Amelia:
Come in… please.
CUT TO: Stephen and James stepping inside — the camera lingers on a framed photo of Henry Garcia smiling with a motorcycle helmet, hinting at a deeper link to the gangs.