Echoes of the Masked

Los Angeles, 2000. Halloween Eve.

The streets glowed with orange lights, ghosts and pumpkin lanterns adorning every window. Children dressed as wizards, skeletons, and vampires knocked on doors, shouting, “Trick or treat!”

A parade marched down Main Street, costumed dancers in elaborate outfits twirling through the crowd. Revelers raised their glasses and cheered, the air thick with the scents of candy, hot cider, and roasted pumpkin pie.

At midnight, the police station received a call.

“I heard gunshots.”

On the other end was an elderly man, his voice trembling slightly.

“Sir, it’s Halloween. There are firecrackers, sparklers, and fireworks everywhere,” the duty officer replied nonchalantly.

“I know what gunshots sound like,” the old man insisted. “Three shots, all in bursts—short and precise.”

But in the clamor of this city, who would believe him?

The next morning, rain washed over the streets.

Last night’s revelry was a memory. Smashed jack-o’-lanterns flickered out, the costume ball had ended, and colorful confetti, soaked by the rain, plastered the wet pavement.

On a bench sat three figures, perfectly still.

They wore cheap plastic masks, looking like unclaimed Halloween decorations. Rainwater slid down their collars, dripping along their necks to the ground, mingling with the muddy puddles.

A detective crouched down and reached to lift one of the masks.

The air froze in that instant.

Beneath the plastic facade was a shattered face—flesh mangled, skull nearly blasted apart.

Blood had long since seeped into the collar, trickling down the bench’s wooden slats and pooling in the water below.

No murder weapon. No witnesses. No clues.

But the police knew one thing: the killer was still hiding in this city.

---

Seventeen dragged a bulging duffel bag onto a long-distance train bound for Los Angeles.

She wore a black hoodie, sunglasses covering half her face, the brim of her hood pulled low. The bag was heavy—enough to make her shoulders ache slightly—but her steps remained light, betraying no hint of strain.

She picked a seat at random and sat down. Across from her was a shy-looking young girl clutching a thick envelope tightly to her chest.

The train rumbled to life. The girl stared down at the envelope, her fingers fidgeting with the seal, opening it every few minutes as if afraid it might vanish.

Seventeen tilted her head, studying her. Her gaze landed on the corner of the envelope—a University of Los Angeles acceptance letter.

She pushed her sunglasses up slightly and smiled. “You headed to the city?”

The girl hesitated, then nodded.

“Funny coincidence,” Seventeen said, slipping off her sunglasses to reveal a pair of startlingly clear eyes. “Me too.”

The corners of her eyes curved downward, giving her a naturally soft, disarming smile that made it hard to mistrust her.

Within minutes, the girl let her guard down and started chatting.

Her name was Melissa. She’d earned a spot at the University of Los Angeles from a small town. A relative in the city center had promised to help her settle in.

At first, their conversation was casual.

But soon, Melissa was pouring out her life story—her major, her family, her favorite movies, even the first cigarette she’d secretly smoked.

Seventeen smiled, nodding occasionally.

But her mind had already drifted elsewhere.

---

Meanwhile, at the Los Angeles Police Department.

“Halloween shooting. Preliminary assessment: internal conflict.”

Detective Archie Seabrook closed the file, his tone as calm as if he were handling a routine street killing.

“The victims are likely part of a crime syndicate—robbery, arms dealing, human trafficking. If it’s illegal, they’ve probably done it. Most likely a dispute over money, one of their own took them out.”

“The problem is,” his partner Eric Vasquez cut in, “they always move in packs. Three are dead, which leaves one alive. Either they’ve fled, or… they’re more dangerous than the rest.”

A brief silence fell over the office.

They both knew the real trouble wasn’t the bodies—it was the one still breathing.

The only lead was a 3 a.m. surveillance clip.

A figure in black athletic wear vanishing around a corner in the rainy night.

No one knew who they were.

No one knew where they went.

But Archie would bet anything—they weren’t leaving this city.

---

The rainy night in Los Angeles. Gunshots had shaken the city awake.

The police station’s phones blew up at 2 a.m. Three unidentified bodies, three masked faces, dumped on the street like some cruel Halloween offering.

When the news broke, Detective Archie Seabrook rubbed his temples and snapped his file shut.

“Identities confirmed?”

“Pretty much,” Eric Vasquez said, flipping open the dossier. “They’re a roaming crew, tied to at least three armed robberies and two murders. Banks, cash trucks, jewelry stores—they hit everything.”

“You mean… them?”

“Yeah,” Vasquez paused, his gaze darkening. “There were supposed to be four.”

Archie went quiet for a moment.

Three bodies. That meant the last one was alive.

The question was—who?

Someone who could kill their three partners up close and vanish without a trace. Two possibilities: either an internal feud, or a colder, more calculated player who’d planned to clean house all along.

Either way, that person wouldn’t stick around Los Angeles long.

He—or she—must already be on the run.

---

At 5 a.m., a long-distance train pulled out of Los Angeles, winding through the rain-soaked wilderness.

Seventeen leaned against the window, fingers resting on her duffel’s zipper, eyes closed.

Her bag was heavy, packed with enough to scare any thief senseless—cash, modified firearms, spare IDs, and a few grenades.

She didn’t like long trips, but right now, she had no choice.

Everything had happened faster than she’d planned. She could’ve taken days to set up an exit strategy, but that night, it all spiraled out of control.

They’d argued stupidly over petty loot.

They hadn’t expected her to strike first.

Seventeen didn’t regret it. She never did.

The train jolted slightly. She opened her eyes. Across from her, Melissa was still fussing with her acceptance letter, her expression tense as if reassuring herself her future was still intact.

*You shouldn’t trust strangers so easily, Melissa.*

Seventeen’s gaze flicked to the girl’s phone on the table.

*And you definitely shouldn’t leave your info right in front of me.*

---

6 a.m., Los Angeles Union Station.

The rain had stopped, but the air still carried the damp chill of the night.

Outside the station, plainclothes detectives mingled with the crowd, their eyes scanning every passenger dragging luggage inside.

Archie Seabrook looked up at the departure board in the distance.

They were betting this guy would take a long-distance train out.

Someone who could survive a hail of bullets and gun down three partners wouldn’t linger in the city long.

The problem now was finding this living ghost among hundreds of passengers.

Vasquez flipped through a list. “Train stops at San Diego, Phoenix, Houston… ends in Miami.”

“Don’t miss a single one,” Archie said through gritted teeth, staring into the crowd.

They wouldn’t let this big fish slip away.

---

The train stopped briefly at a small town. Seventeen stood, stretched lazily, and stepped out to smoke.

She ambled out of the carriage, fishing a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her sweatpants pocket and lighting one between her lips.

When she returned, Melissa’s seat was empty.

What made her frown, though, was this—

A man was on his tiptoes, rifling through the overhead luggage rack.

Her bag.

Seventeen narrowed her eyes as his unfamiliar fingers tugged at the zipper.

*Idiot.*

In a flash, she was behind him, one arm locking around his neck with precision.

“Find anything good?” Her voice was low, almost tender against his ear.

The thief’s face flushed red as he flailed, but Seventeen’s elbow clamped tighter around his throat.

Her other hand yanked her bag open, the zipper ripping wide—revealing stacks of bundled cash, gun parts, and a black plastic mask.

The last mark of her identity—the mask she’d worn when she killed three people.

The thief’s eyes bulged, sheer terror flooding his face.

Before he could catch his breath, Seventeen jerked him back and slammed him into the seat.

She pressed the barrel of her gun into his stomach, her voice dropping slow and deliberate. “Who told you to touch it?”

The thief was shaking so hard he could barely speak, stammering, “I… I just wanted to see if there was cash…”

Seventeen gave a faint smile, as if weighing whether he was lying.

She eased her grip but kept the gun pressed against him.

“Didn’t your boss teach you how to spot a bag?” Her voice was colder than a bullet. “Can’t tell which ones belong to people you don’t mess with?”

He nodded frantically, hands trembling as he raised them in surrender.

Satisfied, Seventeen slid the gun back, zipped up her bag, and shoved it into the rack before sitting down as if nothing had happened.

Melissa returned, holding a water bottle. She blinked at the pale-faced thief standing in the aisle. “What happened?”

Seventeen smiled, taking the water from her. “Nothing. He got on the wrong car.”

She twisted the cap off and took a sip.

The thief stumbled away, fleeing the carriage like he’d escaped death itself.

Seventeen squinted out the window at the scenery speeding by.

The city was growing farther away.

But she knew they’d come after her.

---

The train cut through the night, passing small towns, streetlights flashing past the windows like shattered stars.

Seventeen leaned back in her seat, feigning sleep.

Most of the carriage was asleep, the air filled only with the occasional cough and the low hum of wheels on tracks. Melissa slept soundly, arms wrapped around her backpack like it was a talisman.

Late into the night, passengers slid their compartment doors shut, lost in their dreams.

---

3 a.m. A dim nightlight glowed in the carriage corridor.

Melissa stirred awake, her mouth dry. Groggy, she shuffled out of the compartment, heading for the bathroom, steadying herself against the wall.

Without her glasses, her vision was blurry, her steps unsteady. The train’s swaying made her grab the luggage rack to keep from falling.

Standing there, she tugged open her backpack for her water bottle.

But in the dark, her fingers brushed another bag’s zipper by mistake.

Frowning, she mistook Seventeen’s luggage for her own and slid the zipper open.

Something light slipped out.

*Thud.*

The faint sound was jarringly clear in the silent carriage.

Melissa squinted down at what had fallen.

A black plastic mask.

She froze, realizing she’d opened something she shouldn’t have.

The train plunged into a tunnel, the lights cutting out, the windows swallowed by pure darkness—an endless abyss.

Melissa crouched to pick up the mask. As her fingers brushed the cold plastic, a chill crawled up her neck.

Someone was behind her.

She could feel eyes on her, heavy with menace.

Slowly, she looked up.

The train burst out of the tunnel, faint light spilling through the windows.

Seventeen stood behind her, staring down, her gaze unnervingly still.

Her amber eyes glinted in the dark, like a cat locked on its prey.

The train jolted slightly.

Before Melissa’s eyes, a pale hand reached under the seat, as if checking something.

Then, with the sway of the train, a cold body rolled out from under the bunk, thudding against Melissa’s leg.

She stopped breathing, pupils dilating, lips trembling, a scream rising—

But Seventeen’s hand clamped over her mouth.

“Shh,” she whispered, her voice devoid of emotion.

The train plunged into another tunnel, light vanishing.

The carriage echoed with Melissa’s pounding heartbeat.

---

When the train emerged from the tunnel, the carriage was calm again.

Only Seventeen remained in the seat.

She set down her water bottle and unhurriedly opened Melissa’s backpack, pulling out the acceptance letter with the University of Los Angeles seal.

Her fingers traced the envelope’s edge, her expression indifferent.

This letter was a ticket to a new identity.

She glanced at her own duffel.

Her biggest problem right now was this damn bag.

The leather was cracking under the weight, threatening to give out any moment. If it split open on the train, the cash, modified guns, magazines, grenades, and knife inside would spill out like trash.

It’d be a spectacle—practically a full-blown disaster.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

Thinking back to last night, she knew she’d made a mistake.

She shouldn’t have taken them all out at once.

If she’d waited a minute, roped in one ally to take down the other two…

She wouldn’t be alone now, hiding in this rickety train car.

Too late for that.

She tried propping her duffel on Melissa’s rolling suitcase to ease the strain.

*Crack.*

A sharp snap rang out as the suitcase’s handle broke.

Seventeen’s temple twitched.

Her patience snapped. She kicked the duffel hard.

A conductor passing by for ticket checks paused, giving her a strange look. “…Everything okay?”

Seventeen looked up with a flawless, innocent smile. “Fine. Just tired.”

She glanced at her bag, her eyes darkening.

She needed a stop soon.

A new identity.

A quiet place to sort her gear.

And someone unsuspected to cover for her.

Her gaze settled on Melissa’s suitcase.

Her smile deepened, heavy with meaning…

(To be continued)