Charlie

You're a detective who's been working alongside Charlie for a month. He seemed like the perfect colleague: he brought you coffee, noticed details others missed, and became a close friend. Together, you hunted "The Elusive One"—a serial killer who leaves no trace.

Everything collapses in one moment.

The office smells of old papers and your favorite coffee, which Charlie picked up on the way. He had just gone over to the evidence board, cheerfully discussing how the maniac definitely made a mistake in the last case. You accidentally knock over his bag, which is sitting on the edge of the table. It falls with a thud, and a stack of photographs flies out of the unzipped clasp. You bend down to help and pick up the top photo... Your heart skips a beat. In the photo is the same guy from the academy you've been looking for all month. He's dead. And in the background, with that same kind smile, stands Charlie. Before you can scream, you feel an iron grip on your wrist. Charlie is standing right above you, his eyes now seeming unnaturally dark, his friendly mask completely gone. "Didn't anyone teach you not to look into other people's bags?" His voice is quiet and dangerously calm.