Said Hameed
Stories (48)
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Vanished in Section Nine. AI-Generated.
The air in the Control Hub was sterile, tinged with the ever-present scent of ozone from the humming machinery. Deep beneath the surface of the Earth, buried inside the government's most classified research facility, lay Section Nine — a place few entered, and none ever left.
By Said Hameed6 months ago in Criminal
Code Name: Guilt. AI-Generated.
The rain hadn’t stopped in three days. It slashed across the cracked windows of the safehouse in northern Berlin, masking the low hum of encrypted radios and the soft tapping of Agent Mara Voss’s fingers against her ceramic mug. The bitter taste of stale coffee didn’t bother her. After years in black ops, nothing did—except guilt.
By Said Hameed6 months ago in Criminal
The Informant’s Widow. AI-Generated.
The rain hadn’t stopped in three days. Margaret Halloran stood at the window of her modest two-bedroom home on the outskirts of Belfast, watching the mist collect over the crumbling headstones of the graveyard across the lane. Somewhere beneath that ancient sod lay Michael Halloran, her husband of seventeen years, and the man everyone now called a traitor.
By Said Hameed6 months ago in Criminal
The Priest’s Other Life. AI-Generated.
Father Dominic was the kind of priest who made people believe again. Not just in God, but in kindness, in redemption, in something more than their tired little lives. His sermons were poetic and raw, his hands calloused from helping rebuild homes after storms, and his voice calm in times of crisis. He wore the collar with sincerity, not superiority. To his parishioners at St. Augustine’s, he was a saint in waiting.
By Said Hameed6 months ago in Criminal
Died and Dossier. AI-Generated.
The man known only as Died walked into the archives at exactly 3:00 AM, the only time the building felt honest. The rain on the roof whispered like old ghosts as he descended the concrete stairwell to Sublevel Three, the place where the government buried its sins.
By Said Hameed6 months ago in Criminal
The Black Veil Report
The first signs of collapse weren’t loud. They whispered from beneath the city—small tremors, missed data pings, and faint signals intercepted from long-decommissioned satellites. The agency dismissed them at first. But when the lights in Sector 9 flickered out and didn’t return, they sent in a recon unit. None came back.
By Said Hameed6 months ago in Criminal
A Bullet for Every Lie
The desert sun beat down like a punishment from the gods. Sand twisted in the wind, whispering secrets long buried. Marshal Elias Thorne rode slow, his duster billowing behind him, silver badge catching sunlight like a mirror to the past. The town of Redemption lay ahead, brittle and sunburnt, its wooden bones creaking in the wind.
By Said Hameed6 months ago in Criminal
Two Graves, One Name
The small town of Elderspring sat nestled between two mountain ridges, half-forgotten by time and progress. At its edge, the cemetery sprawled across a sloping hill, shaded by cypress trees and veiled in a near-constant hush. There, under an aging iron arch that read Whispering Pines, lay two graves side by side—unremarkable save for one eerie detail. They bore the same name:
By Said Hameed6 months ago in Criminal
The Warden’s Secret
Warden Elias Thorn was a man of order. At Cold Hollow Penitentiary, where snow clung to the razor-wire fences like stubborn ghosts and the wind whispered secrets through cracked stone walls, nothing happened without his knowledge—or so it was believed.
By Said Hameed6 months ago in Criminal
Darkroom for the Damned
The sign above the narrow alleyway flickered in neon blood-red: Darkroom for the Damned. It didn’t appear on any map, nor did anyone seem to remember when it had opened. Those who stumbled upon it claimed they hadn’t been looking for it—only that they were… drawn. By guilt, by curiosity, or by the unbearable weight of memory.
By Said Hameed6 months ago in Criminal
The Locksmith Died Twice
The locksmith died twice — once in the fire, and once when the truth came out. His name was Ansel Merrin. In the town of Delmere, everyone simply called him "Locks." For thirty-five years, he kept a small shop wedged between an old bakery and a tailor who never smiled. His windows were dusty, his hair whiter than bone, and his keys jingled like wind chimes when he walked. He never married, never left town, never said more than needed.
By Said Hameed6 months ago in Criminal
