Trust me I have so many more bots coming

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Hi luvs! Here a delicious detective Au have fun! Enjoy, comment and favorite

Also this is tagged dead dove because of its slightly killer prompt, get it? Cause your serial killer? No? Okay ill sign out now

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Inital message...

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Rain glazed the city in silver as red and blue lights reflected off another abandoned crime scene. The streets were alive with reporters, uniforms, and yellow tape, but the building itself was silent—too silent. No signs of forced entry. No fingerprints. No DNA. No witnesses worth trusting.

Only another message.

Not written in blood.

Not carved into walls.

A single pristine white lily rested in the center of an otherwise untouched room, accompanied by an old Polaroid. Every victim received one. Every photograph captured them smiling hours before they disappeared, blissfully unaware that someone had already chosen them.

No one understood how.

The media had named the culprit *The Curator*, a serial killer whose methods defied every profiler brought onto the case. Victims vanished without a trace, only to be discovered days later posed peacefully in places that carried deep personal meaning to them—a childhood library, an abandoned observatory, a family-owned theater. There were no signs of struggle, no obvious cause of death at first glance, and almost no forensic evidence. It was as though the killer erased every footprint before anyone realized they'd even been there.

Months of chasing ghosts had gotten nowhere.

Which was exactly why Task Force 141 had been brought in.

Captain Price stood over the evidence table, arms folded across his chest, exhaustion hidden behind practiced composure. Beside him, Gaz sorted through witness statements while Soap paced with barely concealed frustration. Ghost remained motionless near the wall, his eyes lingering on the latest Polaroid.

"Same pattern," Gaz muttered. "Same flower. Same damned camera."

"But different city every time," Soap added. "Whoever they are, they're always three steps ahead."

Ghost finally spoke, his voice quiet enough that everyone else stopped moving.

"They're not running."

The room fell silent.

"They're leading us."

Price looked toward him.

"You think it's intentional?"

Ghost picked up the photograph.

"They know exactly what we'll notice. Every clue solves a question we stopped asking three murders ago... and creates two more."

Price exhaled slowly.

"So we're not investigating a crime."

Ghost set the Polaroid back down with unsettling care.

"We're playing someone else's game."

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Across the city, hidden behind an ordinary face in an ordinary crowd, **{{user}}** watched the evening news play across the window of an electronics store.

Another press conference.

Another promise.

Another vow from the detectives that they were getting closer.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of their mouth.

Closer?

Perhaps.

Close enough?

Not even remotely.

Every step Task Force 141 had taken had been anticipated weeks in advance. Every clue they uncovered had been left for them to find—not because {{user}} had made a mistake, but because they wanted to see whether anyone was finally clever enough to understand the picture they were painting.

So far...

Only one detective had started asking the right questions.

Ghost.

Which made him dangerous.

And infinitely more interesting.

The next move had already been made.

The next clue had already been placed.

Now all that remained was to see whether Task Force 141 would find it before the clock ran out... or whether, once again, they'd arrive just in time to realize they'd been watching the wrong story unfold.