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She knew—how well she knew. The horrific display was unnerving, disconcerting. However, beneath her revulsion, Roseline felt a bold determination growing within her. She would not cower or retreat from this darkness.
Roseline and Callan were projected in that dim, blood-stained room together now, bolstering each other against the coming horrors about to unfold before their eyes. They would carry this shared trauma with them into the darker days still ahead, and they would use this opportunity to find more clues to stop the Game Master.
Callan gave her hand a firm squeeze in return. A wordless message.
The Game Master turned back to DeLuca, trailing the tip of a hunting knife across his cheek. “Now, let us give the people what they want, shall we?”
DeLuca thrashed against his restraints, pleading for his life. But the Master tsked in amusement. “Come now, think of this as your starring role! A huge chance at fame few get to experience.”
Roseline turned away for a moment as bile rose in her throat. When she turned back, she kept her eyes fixed steadily on the screen, her free hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist. Her jaw was set, and determination blazed through her.
After taking a few deep breaths, her stomach calmed. She would not show weakness. She owed that much to DeLuca, even if he was a criminal. No matter how horrific the violence on display, she needed to remain strong, both to keep her wits about her and for Callan’s sake. They would need each other to endure this crucible.
The video feed disconnected after the Game Master concluded his gruesome work. Roseline sagged in her chair, shaken by the images now seared into her mind but trying not to show it. There would be time later to process her disgust and rage when she was alone. For now, she needed to stay focused.
Her fingers flew across the keyboards, eyes fixed on the code scrolling across the monitors. She was digging into the video’s metadata, searching desperately for any slight mistake, any tiny opening that could give them a trail back to the Game Master himself.
Callan sat and watched without speaking.
Roseline was in her element—the digital plane was her domain. She had a key role to play here that he could not fill, and she was grateful Commander Beck had insisted on pairing them together.
Time dragged on as Roseline worked entirely in her zone. Eventually, she straightened and removed her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose wearily. “He’s incredibly meticulous. Used encryption and routed the stream through endless proxy servers abroad. I can’t pin down an exact origin point,” she said, frustration palpable.
“You’ll crack this, Roseline. No one is flawless,” Callan reassured her.
She sighed. Tension pulled at her forehead, and a headache loomed. “I just hope we can catch him before…” Her voice trailed off, but the unspoken fears hung heavy between them.
Before the audience demanded another show.
Time was not on their side.
Roseline carefully reviewed the gruesome video frame by frame. The room itself appeared nondescript, but clearly, almost everything had been selected to avoid giving away specifics.
Except… She squinted at the screen, reversed the feed, and checked again.
Except for one careless oversight.
Paused near the end of the video feed, off to the side, she noticed a door with a small glass window inset with wire mesh. Through the smudged glass, she could just barely make out what appeared to be cargo containers outside.
“Callan, look here,” Roseline pointed out her discovery. She tapped a few keys to enhance that portion of the frame. The grainy shapes grew clearer. “Shipping containers.”
“Good spotting,” he said, leaning closer. “Those look like shipping containers. If we can identify the company on the side or the general surroundings, it could give us a major lead,” he agreed, encouraging her that her traditional police work had contributed something of value alongside her technical prowess. They were a team now, combining their unique strengths.
More hours passed without progress. No digital breadcrumbs to trace, and no strong leads from Roseline’s visual analysis. Just dead ends and darkness. Fatigue weighed on her, her shoulders slumped in defeat. She had been tremendously, singularly focused since first glimpsing this esoteric threat days ago.
Callan was concerned seeing the toll this obsessive journey was taking on her well-being, and he said as much. But the desire to stop evil could so easily consume a person whole.
“Roseline, it’s getting late,” he added. “We should get away from these screens for a while. Let’s go grab a drink and a bite to eat, empty our minds a bit. We’ll take a cab there so we can unwind.”
She frowned, hesitant to pull herself away from her digital hunt. But she nodded grudgingly, knowing he was right. Physical and mental exhaustion left one prone to missing critical clues. She needed to replenish herself and get some distance from these horrors they had witnessed.
“You’re probably right,” she conceded with a tired sigh, rising from her desk chair. “I just hope we can discover something practical prior to…”
Her voice trailed off ominously, leaving the same unspoken fears hanging heavily between them. They had to find something before the Game Master selected, seized, and murdered another mobster or criminal. Before that vile, faceless audience demanded more fresh blood to sate their twisted thirst for violent entertainment.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The worn leather of the booth creaked as Roseline settled in across from Callan, the cozy back corner of the Mercantile Pub enveloping them in a dim light and low jazz music. She glanced at the faded photos and newspaper clippings lining the walls, remnants from the bar’s notorious history now catering to quieter crowds.
