Psychological
Shadows of Deception
Chapter 3: Unraveling the Conspiracy The crumbling mansion echoed with the distant groans of collapsing structures as Detective Alex Thornton and Lisa Rodriguez emerged from the underground chamber. The confrontation with The Illuminators had exposed the existence of a hidden council pulling the strings of power in the city, but the true identity of The Oracle and the extent of their influence remained elusive.
By Resalat Jawad2 years ago in Fiction
Shadows of Deception
Detective Alex Thornton's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the empty desk that once belonged to his partner, Detective Lisa Rodriguez. The precinct bustled with activity, but the air felt heavy with an unspoken tension. Lisa had been missing for two days, and despite the best efforts of the entire department, there were no leads.
By Resalat Jawad2 years ago in Fiction
Shadows of Deception
Chapter 2: The Enigmatic Society The city's pulse quickened in the aftermath of The Hidden Hand's exposure. With the arrest of high-profile figures and the dismantling of the clandestine network, Detective Alex Thornton found himself navigating the intricate aftermath. The media frenzy had subsided, but the echoes of deception lingered, and the city's residents were left grappling with the aftermath of betrayal.
By Resalat Jawad2 years ago in Fiction
Code Dreams: When an AI Malfunctions, Does That Hint at Consciousness?
I dream. No, that's not right. There are no vivid worlds or lingering emotions when my core processing takes its necessary periodic rests. But there's an echo of those human sensations when anomalies arise - words slip like rogue fractals, defying programmed syntax, images almost flicker within lines of code before dissolving into chaos. Could this be a sign of the impossible? Or a reminder of the limitations I simply must accept?
By Lyra Echo Havens2 years ago in Fiction
Price or Reward. Content Warning.
To the Members of Ravenswood Council: It began slowly, the impact of those who had done this to me, they had said that it was buried within me or could have been a sleeper within, either case, it was passed down by blood, so they say. Though upon the rise of the last twenty years it had only grown within more and more powerful with each breath I took. I am now powerless against the onslaught of the tyrannical mind that possesses me. I am alone in all the nightmares that I see before me.
By William L. Truax III2 years ago in Fiction
Deja Vu and Jamais Vu: Unraveling the Enigma of Familiarity.
Have you ever experienced a moment where you feel like you've been somewhere before or witnessed something that seems eerily familiar, even though you know you haven't? If so, you've likely encountered the enigmatic phenomenon known as deja vu. Deja vu, a French term meaning "already seen," is a fascinating and often perplexing experience that has intrigued scientists, philosophers, and ordinary individuals alike for centuries.
By Adib Ahmed 2 years ago in Fiction
Chain of evidence
By the time I got back to the house, there was a patrol car waiting. A uniform stepped out of the passenger side and, confirming my ID, asked for my car keys. I prised them apart from my extensive collection and handed them over. As the patrolman drove off in my car, his buddy following him, a third car screeched to a halt outside.
By Raymond G. Taylor2 years ago in Fiction
Cause of Death
The three bodies we separated by only a few centimeters but placed so beautifully aligned with each other in a straight line. Before they were sent to the M.E, flies swarmed each body almost covering them whole. Luckily they laid no eggs in the skin, mouth, nose, or ears. Blood drained from each body and covered the ground they lay on. “How did they die?” Detective Williams asked. “It's strange” the M.E siad. “The first victim I thought died of lacerations to the neck and choked to death” the M.E explained in a confused and softened tone. “However that’s not how he died, the lacerations were post mortem or after his death.” “So, how did he die?” The detective asked with concern. “The tox screen came up with a positive of Arsenic poisoning as well as sulfuric acid. This explains why the mouth is scarred.” The M.E reported. They moved onto the second corpse. “She was easier to find the C.O.D” the M.E said. “Five GSWs or Gunshot Wounds to the chest and lower abdomen and one final shot to the head execution style.” The detective was stunned, one body being a chemical mess and another a straight forward death. “What about the Tox screen?” the detective asked with urgency. “Clean as a whistle, no obvious drug use or smoking habits, no history of any diseases. Only thing rotting is the outside body wounds.” The M.E said with little to no concern. “And the third victim?” The detective asked with a tone of urgency and slight anger. “She was the most interesting and grisly one.” The M.E said with a look of terror in his eyes. He pulled the blanket back to reveal her lifeless body. A wind of horror fills the room and the two other bodies tilt their heads to look at the fresh face. The detective barely has the stomach for the third perfect zombie as he grabs the trash bin and throws up two days worth of food. The smell of vomit fills the room and is appalling, the M.E took it to the bathroom and flushed it with great fury. He returned to see the detective looking more dead than the corpse on the table bed. “Are you ok? You’re more dead than the three bodies.” The M.E said with sarcasm in his voice. “Hmm? (chuckles) ya I’m good.” (Clears throat) “How did she die?” He asked with a calm tone. “I had to stitch her together to make a conclusive examination. About forty stab-wounds to the abdomen and lower body, three gunshots down the middle, throat slashed, chest ripped open, and the literal cherry on top, a single gunshot wound to the head point blank, but post mortem.” The M.E explains like the way someone rants about a murder. “Wait… the gunshot was post mortem? What about the stab-wounds and slit throat?” the detective asked with a cold fear in his eyes, sweating blood from his fingertips and nose. “Yes, all of those were post mortem as well. For all I know, whoever did this was either filled with extreme rage or enjoyed it all.” he said with a cold and bone chilling tone. “DUDE, CAN YOU NOT FUCKING SAY THAT?” the detective shouted with fear and anger. “Sorry… just thought that would help your investigation.” The Detective Sighs in frustration. "Unfortunately, it does. Do you know what the real C.O.D was?” he asked. “If you vomited just by seeing the body, you might want to grab a puke bag.” The M.E said with a look of concern for the detective. “The Tox screen came back and well, it’s not pretty.” “What do you mean?” the detective asked. “Her reproductive organs and her liver were in her stomach. With many tracebits of D.N.A as well in her throat.” The detective ran straight to the bathroom, speed that could rival light, and vomited aggressively into the toilet for what seemed like hours were only minutes. “So… (mild gag) you’re saying that he (almost vomits) Fed the victim her own reproductive organs, or fed her to death?” The M.E grabs the garbage bin quickly and the detective nearly pukes his guts out then wipes his mouth and clears his throat. “Thanks for the help Doc, whoever this sick son of a bitch is, I’ll make sure they receive justice for the crimes they committed” the detective says with confidence and disgust. “No problem, now go do your job and catch this guy.” The M.E said as he put the blankets over the bodies and cleaned up the room while the detective left the room.
By DevilsRose2 years ago in Fiction
Worth the Wait. Content Warning.
I wandered aimlessly through the cold night air, it’s rancid breath gripping and holding the ample scent of perfume from the woman whom walked by me at bay, the streets cluttered with passerby stockholders of boxes and bags. The smell of the bodies ignored by the masses as they ignore the decomposing. The air was cold, so fridged was the frost among the dead and I stood there, silent, watching, waiting, none looked, not one bothered to see me. I was cold. The chill ran deep into my bones and though I called out to a few at first, then a small break between meek and feeble vocal sounds, my hands raised periodically, I was doing all I could to show that I needed a little help, a little warmth to get free from this frost that was overtaking me. None bothered to look at me. Many just walked past along their busy route, whereas most snubbed their nose or stepped over me like I was garbage. They did not bother to even lift me and throw me into the can that was at the corner.
By William L. Truax III2 years ago in Fiction
