Evening.
Saint Petersburg, Russia.
Coffee 22 Cafe.

Steam rose from cups of hot coffee as soft jazz played through the speakers. People chatted quietly, their voices mixing with the clinking of cups. Outside, the street lamps cast golden light over the Snow.

Then, the large television on the wall flickered on. The familiar Global News Russia logo appeared.

The sound in the room slowly faded. Some customers looked up from their seats; others froze mid-sip.
---

10:45 PM

Global News Russia Studio

The studio lights cast a cold, clinical blue across the sleek desk. Anastasia Volkova sat behind it—immaculate, calm—but there was a subtle tension in her posture, a tightness in her jaw she didn’t fully conceal.

“Breaking news just in — a notorious serial killer, known as [SHADOW], is believed to be hiding inside an abandoned house on the outskirts of Saint Petersburg. Acting on a confidential tip, police have surrounded the area.”

Her voice remained steady, professional, but the weight of her words made the studio feel smaller, colder.

She paused, glancing at the camera with sharp precision.

“We’re now going live to our correspondent, Ivan Morozov, who’s at the scene.”

The screen flickered, and a figure appeared—a man in a black coat, microphone clutched tightly, snow whipping around him. His breath fogged in the cold night, his eyes darting over the darkened street behind him.

“Ivan, can you tell us what’s happening there right now? How are the authorities handling the situation?”

“Thank you, Anastasia. As you can see, I’m standing here in the Krasnogvardeysky District, near an old government housing complex. Just behind me is that gray, two-story building in the distance. According to local residents, they’ve seen a mysterious hooded figure roaming around the building over the past few days—”

Suddenly, the video feed stuttered. Frames froze, smeared by static. Ivan’s figure distorted, flickering unnaturally.

“Uh… Anastasia, the signal—”

The transmission collapsed entirely. In the studio, every monitor went black. A single red warning glowed ominously:

[SIGNAL LOST — PLEASE STAND BY]

Anastasia’s fingers tightened on the desk. She didn’t flinch, but the unease in the studio was palpable. It was as if the darkness beyond the monitors had reached into the room itself.

“We apologize for this unexpected interruption,” she said, voice sharp now, precise. “Authorities are responding. We will return with updates as soon as possible.

For more updates, stay with us. You’re watching Global News Russia.”

The camera lingered on her face. Blue lights reflected faintly in her eyes—controlled, composed, yet betraying the faintest trace of worry—before cutting to a commercial break.

---

11:05 PM

Police Department Command Center

Screens lined the walls, alive with feeds, maps, satellite imagery, and the broken broadcast from the scene outside. Officers spoke in clipped tones; radios buzzed; keyboards clicked.

At the center of it all stood Lieutenant Aaron Petrov.

Tall, composed, and calm, Aaron’s eyes scanned every flicker on the monitors, tracing each shadow, each movement. Known across the city as methodical, relentless, and impossibly calm under pressure, he seemed to absorb the chaos around him and turn it into focus.

A junior officer hurried forward, voice tight.

“Lieutenant Petrov, perimeter teams report no visual on the suspect. All roads are blocked, but the feed keeps getting jammed. We can’t get a clear signal.”

Aaron leaned over the central table, fingers tracing the street layout as though memorizing it by touch. He didn’t flinch. He never did.

“Signal jamming or not, SHADOW isn’t leaving that building. Keep the perimeter tight. Nobody goes in or out without clearance. Contact the cyber unit—I want every countermeasure deployed. If he thinks he can hide behind dead signals, he’s about to learn how wrong he is.”

Officers straightened instinctively. He radiated authority without raising his voice. Even in the cramped, buzzing command center—with the cold night pressing against the city beyond the walls—his presence anchored the room.

“Prepare a rapid response team. And get me overwatch drone feeds immediately. I want eyes inside that building, no matter what it takes.”

---

11:35 PM

Outskirts of Saint Petersburg — Abandoned Building Complex

Snow crunched under boots as the tactical team advanced. The first building loomed, gray and silent, shadows stretching long under the dim streetlights. Aaron moved at the front, scanning every corner, every whisper of movement. The weight of responsibility pressed on his shoulders, yet his expression remained controlled, almost detached.

He paused at the entrance, fingers brushing the worn doorframe.

“Stay sharp. Expect ambushes, booby traps, or hidden points,” he warned through the radio.

The team hesitated—a heartbeat of silence—tension thick in the icy air. They swept the building methodically. Dust lay undisturbed, shadows empty, corners silent.

“Clear,” one officer whispered.

Aaron nodded, leading them to the second building—the suspected hideout of Shadow.

The hallway inside was silent, the air stale with neglect. Every creak of the floorboards echoed like a warning.

“Front clear. Move inside,” Aaron ordered.

They fanned out, flashlights cutting through the darkness. The office at the end of the hall was secured quickly. No traps. No alarms. Only the faint scent of dust and decay.

Aaron signaled to hold positions. Every officer felt it—the subtle, unseen presence of Shadow, watching, waiting, calculating.

In front of the library, Aaron’s eyes caught it immediately—a sophisticated lock on the library door, nearly invisible beneath layers of dust.

“Bring the ElectroLock Bypass Unit,” he ordered.

A junior officer knelt, pulling the compact device from its case. Tiny robotic arms extended, probing the lock. Sparks danced faintly. Seconds stretched into minutes, every heartbeat echoing loud in the silent hallway.

Click. The lock disengaged.

“Bypass complete,” the officer whispered.

Aaron signaled forward. Five officers, rifles raised, followed him into the office.

The room defied expectation. Against the crumbling facade of the building, the interior was pristine. The library within was spotless, defying the ruin outside. Polished wooden floors reflected the dim glow of the flashlights. Shelves lined with books stood perfectly straight. A central table gleamed as if in constant use.

And there—seated at the table, back straight, a black-clad figure unmoving—was Shadow.

The team froze. Every muscle tensed. Every finger hovered on a trigger. The figure did not flinch. Did not breathe audibly. The air itself seemed to bend around him.

“Hands where we can see them!” one officer hissed, stepping closer.

The figure remained motionless, silent, perfectly still. Tension coiled tighter with each heartbeat.

Then, just as the officers’ fingers tightened on their triggers—

A voice, cold, precise, and deadly, sliced through the silence.

“Hello, Lieutenant.”

Aaron’s eyes narrowed.

“I was expecting you.”

“Shadow…” Aaron muttered under his breath.

The team froze—recognition, caution, and something sharper flashing across their faces. Shadow had been waiting. Always waiting.

They felt trapped—trapped between the impossibly well-maintained calmness of the library and the unmistakable presence of a predator who had been waiting for them all along.