Minus second floor of the Bozyaka Provincial Police Headquarters... VIP and ranking personnel parking garage. Izmir's humid heat could not reach this massive underground concrete bunker, only the suffocating, mechanical hum of the ventilation fans and the smell of dampness echoed inside. It was well past midnight. A few of the pale white fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling of the parking garage were flickering rhythmically with a crackle. When Deputy Inspector Hale got off the elevator, the sharp sound of her high-heeled boots echoed in the emptiness of the parking garage. She was very tired. In her left hand was the press release file titled "Elite Killer Searching for His Subcontractor", which was to be read to the press tomorrow morning; in her right hand was her car key. Her eyes were burning from lack of sleep, but she hadn't lost anything from her flawless, cold, and statuesque posture. While walking towards her own parking space, she pressed the button of the key. The headlights of her black sedan car flashed yellow twice in the dark and went out. The moment Hale reached for the door handle of the car, she felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Years of police instinct gave a faint alarm deep in her brain. The parking garage was too quiet. The guard in the security booth was probably dozing off. She didn't get a chance to turn around. Out of the darkness, a shadow wearing a thick, dark-colored municipal raincoat appeared behind Hale with deadly silence. Yekta's steel-like left hand clamped over the woman's mouth and nose in a single move, like a vise. Hale's muffled scream melted away inside that calloused palm. She tried to reach for the gun at her waist with her right hand, but Yekta's primal and savage physical strength locked every single muscle of the woman in seconds. "Shhh..." whispered Yekta. His voice, right next to the woman's ear, was like a freezing breeze coming from hell. "Don't struggle... You will ruin your flawlessness." Hale's green eyes opened wide in terror. At that moment, she had understood who the man behind her was. This wasn't that "elite and rich" surgeon; this was the ordinary worker with the bandaged neck who gave way to her among the mud in the garden today! The moment she realized that the arrogant, flamboyant killer profile was a lie; and that the real monster came out of the soil and mud and infiltrated the very heart of Bozyaka, became the last moment of her life. That crescent-bladed pocketknife in Yekta's right hand flashed for a moment in the dark and slid flawlessly, in a single move, on Hale's swan-like white, perfect neck. As the warm blood splattered on the window of the black sedan and the cold concrete of the parking garage, Yekta held the woman's body gently, almost as if holding a fragile porcelain doll. Hale's knees buckled, life rapidly faded from those green eyes. Yekta placed the woman's lifeless body in the driver's seat. He rested her head slowly on the steering wheel. He was in no hurry. This was a blind spot for the cameras; he had memorized this while working around the police station for days. He took that familiar metal box out of his pocket. He applied that special pruning paste he made from pine resin and beeswax in a thin, transparent layer over that bloody half-moon cut on Hale's neck, as if sealing an artistic masterpiece. The ritual was not over. In a single move, Yekta ripped that silver police star pin off the collar of Hale's silk blouse and took it. His new trophy was in his pocket. Finally, he picked up that press release that dropped from the woman's hand—that "Elite Killer" file where the Izmir police wrote their own arrogance—from the ground. He smiled looking at the blood drops splattered on it, and left the file on Hale's lap, right on her bloody hands. This wasn't a murder. This was a savage manifesto left for the Izmir Chief of Police, Chief Inspector Selim, and most importantly for Chief Inspector Aylin, saying, "While you were looking at the sky, I was digging the soil under your feet." Yekta pulled the hood of his raincoat over his head. As he walked towards those dark and forgotten service stairs connected to the ventilation shafts of the Police Headquarters, he took one last look at the masterpiece he left behind and smiled. When morning came, this building would collapse with its own arrogance.1234 copyright protection21ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1GrOvmHwAs 尼

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