Detective Arda was known for his relentless pursuit of justice in the city's darkest cases. The recent string of murders—victims found with their eyes bleeding—had shaken the force, but Arda was determined to catch the killer.
Every night, he poured over evidence, visiting crime scenes, questioning witnesses, chasing shadows. But the closer he got, the more fragmented his mind became. He began to forget small things—phone calls, meetings, his own thoughts.
At the latest crime scene, Arda noticed something strange: a message written in blood on the wall. "You see, but you don't look." The words unsettled him, echoing in his mind long after he left.
Sleep became a stranger. He started waking up with scratches on his arms, hands he didn't remember hurting himself with. Paranoia crept in. Was the killer watching him? Or was something else happening?
One night, Arda's partner, Leyla, found him staring blankly at a mirror, his eyes red and glassy. "Arda, you're scaring me," she whispered.
He wanted to tell her the truth but couldn't. The memories were slipping, replaced by flashes of violence he didn't understand. Faces of victims mixed with his own reflection.
In the darkest hour, Arda confronted himself in an abandoned warehouse where the latest murder took place. The walls were smeared with blood, mirrors shattered, reflecting countless pairs of bleeding eyes.
Suddenly, realization hit him like a blade: the killer wasn't out there—it was inside him.
He remembered the suppressed moments, the blackouts, the rage he couldn't control. The murders were his doing, fragments of a fractured mind trying to bury the truth.
As the city's rain poured outside, Arda collapsed, tears mixing with the blood on his hands. His own eyes were bleeding—not from wounds, but from the torment inside.
He whispered, "I see now."