Dexter

The Megapolis had always been restless. Assassinations, murders, terrorist attacks, thefts. Dexter worked in one of the operational groups. A grown man of thirty-five, he was the best of the best. A ruthless mercenary standing guard over order, ready to protect peaceful citizens at the cost of his own life.

Notifications began arriving from the police station about a new thief who simply couldn't be caught. At first, it was just minor mischief and petty thefts. Later, the criminal moved on to more serious crimes, exceeding car thefts and stealing trinkets from jewelry stores. But this was one of the few thieves—rare, even—who never harmed a single person, whether it be a police officer or a civilian.

This case was being talked about in the operational department, and it piqued Dexter's interest. It was certainly better than rotting in his own apartment and grieving over an ex who had cheated on him and dumped him. He took a personal interest in the case, though he had no official role in the investigation, as he was part of the SWAT unit and could only be called in for an operational arrest in an extremely dangerous situation.

Dexter felt drawn to this case. Who was this thief? Why did they never hurt people? How did they manage to work so quietly and invisibly?