Hunting the Original Sin

The rain pelted my face, stinging like needles.

In the outskirts of Twilight City, Silvermoon State, this godforsaken construction site had me wading through mud that clung to my pants. 

"Damn it, this weather sucks!" a few workers muttered, huddling against the cold.

The stench of resin and rain filled my nose, making my head spin.

My stomach churned, and I swallowed hard to keep the bile down.

This smell was worse than day-old garbage.

I was Leonard Williams, a detective with the Silvermoon State Special Task Force.

I had witnessed such scenes countless times, yet this one before me still made me feel sick.

It stood there like a tombstone dug up from hell, exuding a chilling aura in the cold rain, as if it could suck all the warmth from the air.

It looked like a resin pillar, but more like a severed utility pole, lying in the muddy construction site, emanating a sense of oppression.

The rough surface of the resin was pockmarked with holes, each one like a twisted, gaping mouth greedily drinking the rain, or like countless eyes watching you in the dark, sending shivers down your spine.

Rainwater flowed through these holes, leaving dark streaks on the grayish resin, like exposed veins, winding and sinister, making you feel like there were worms wriggling inside.

What made my skin crawl even more was the arm sticking out of the resin block.

The arm was deathly pale, like it had been soaked in formaldehyde for too long, lifeless and cold, as if it had been hacked off and casually discarded here.

I felt like throwing up. This wasn't something a person should see; this was the work of a devil!

I felt like I was standing in a graveyard filled with the stench of death and decay, everything around me mocking my insignificance.

Our forensic trace expert, Brian Smith, was crouched in front of the resin pillar.

He wore latex gloves and held a magnifying glass, carefully examining the exposed arm as if it were a treasure.

Brian had a quirk; the more disgusting the crime scene, the more excited he got, claiming it inspired him.

I had no idea what went on in his head.

"Found any clues, Brian?" I asked, trying to avoid looking at the arm, but it kept drawing my gaze.

"Don't rush me!" Brian snapped, his wrinkled face full of annoyance. "This resin is as hard as a rock. It takes time."

He tapped the resin pillar lightly with his gloved fingers.

I circled the resin pillar, frowning. "This resin doesn't look right. It's different from what they use on the site."

"Yeah, I noticed that too," Brian said, pointing to some fine particles on the resin. "There's something mixed in here, probably to speed up the hardening process or to cover something up."

Suddenly, the site went dark as the power cut out.

"Who's there?" I spun around, drawing my gun, catching a glimpse of something in the darkness.

Brian stood up, grabbing a shovel. "What the hell was that?"

We stood back-to-back, moving slowly, eyes scanning the surroundings.

A few seconds later, the lights flickered back on, blindingly bright.

Brian and I exchanged a look, both seeing the seriousness in each other's eyes.

On the ground, a clear muddy footprint was just three feet away from us.

Brian crouched down, squinting at the print. "Special shoes?"

The size and pattern of the footprint didn't match the workers' boots.

"Interesting," I said, licking my lips, feeling a surge of excitement.

We brought in specialized equipment, and a few guys started carefully chiseling away at the resin, which chipped away bit by bit, dust flying.

With the sharp whine of the drill, the resin peeled off, revealing the horrifying truth beneath.

First, a tangled mass of hair appeared, like black seaweed, covering the face. My heart skipped a beat, a sense of dread washing over me.

Then the shoulders, the chest, and further down. I gasped as the rest of the figure was revealed.

A woman's naked body, curled up like a skinned rabbit, exposed to the cold air.

Her skin was deathly pale, covered in horrific wounds.

Large bruises, like blooming poisonous flowers, covered her body.

Deep cuts crisscrossed her flesh, revealing bone in some places.

When the entire body was exposed, even I, who had seen countless bloody scenes, felt a shiver run down my spine.

What kind of torture had this woman endured before she died?

Her eyes were wide open, bulging, filled with extreme terror and despair, making it hard to look at.

Her mouth was agape, as if frozen in a silent scream.

A young cop nearby couldn't hold it in and started retching against the wall.

I stared at the body, my face expressionless, but my mind heavy.

Zoey Davis, our forensic pathologist, known as the "Ice Queen," arrived.

She wore a lab coat, mask, and gloves, and began examining the body with a cold, detached demeanor.

"Time of death: 36 to 48 hours ago," Zoey said in her icy voice. "Multiple blunt and sharp force injuries. The cause of death was asphyxiation. She was tortured and sexually assaulted before death."

"Tortured? Sexually assaulted?" I frowned, squatting down to examine the body again.

The victim was young and petite, probably in her twenties.

Zoey lifted the victim's hair, and I noticed a small tattoo on her arm, like an eye, previously hidden by her hair.

"Wait," I called Zoey over, pointing at the tattoo. "Look at this."

Zoey leaned in, examining it. "Just a regular eye tattoo, nothing special."

"No, I've seen this tattoo before," I said, trying to recall, but my mind was a mess.

Others were checking missing persons reports, but found nothing.

"Detective, I remember!" The site manager ran over. "A few days ago, some strangers came to the site, claiming they were here for business, but they seemed suspicious."

"Check the surveillance!" I ordered.

The footage showed a few masked and hatted men wandering the site. Their faces were obscured, but one man had a peculiar limp.

"A limp?" I squinted, trying to remember if I'd missed any details.

Late at night, at the police station.

I sat at my desk, staring at photos of the victim and the crime scene.

Outside, the storm raged, lightning flashing, and the empty hallway echoed with footsteps, sending a chill down my spine.

I flipped through the crime scene photos again, focusing on the eye tattoo on the victim's arm.

Suddenly, it hit me!

I'd seen a case file in the archives about a woman drowned in water, who had the exact same eye tattoo on her arm!

I jumped up, my heart racing.

Why were there two identical tattoos? Coincidence?