A police officer was just called out to go and make an arrest of a case that he had been working on for the past five years. He'd been after a group of mastermind individuals that had been selling a very highly obtained and dangerous drug called Ophelia.
This drug was a very powerful one — if one were to take it, they would feel like their minds could cross over all three places of their lives; the past, the present, and the future. This Ophelia drug had done more damage than any drug had ever done.
"Detective Morda, are you sure that you don't need any assistance? I may be young and still wet behind the ears, but you're also old and not so long you'll retire," a young man's voice said over the earpiece.
"Kid, I truly admire your spirit. It reminds me a lot of your father, who was not just my partner but my best friend too. And you know this case is personal to me — after so many years, I'm finally about to burst these fuckers," Morda said.
Detective Morda was a very old man who was in his late sixties. He was busy walking around an abandoned factory house with his gun in his hand, checking for spots to see if there wasn't anyone there.
He was a detective who had been in the police force for more than four decades. His appearance really made him stand out. Morda had a bald scalp spot, grey hair on the other side of his head, and he wore a very old but vintage three-piece suit — the one that had shoulder pads on it.
It was quiet, and he was the only police officer out there. The factory was really big, and it looked more like an industrial site than your typical factory. Morda was being very careful as he kept on checking around, but the way things seemed, he really didn't need to.
"Are you having any luck finding anything?" the young man asked over the earpiece.
"No, this place looks so abandoned. I've looked everywhere — I'm not finding anyone nor anything suspicious. It's like I'm walking in a ghost house," Morda replied, his tone sounding disappointed.
The factory he was searching in really looked like it hadn't been active for more than a decade. The machinery wasn't broken, but the rust and cobwebs showed that clearly, no one had walked or worked there for years. Even the dust was too much.
Morda felt like he'd searched the whole place now, and since he didn't find anything, it all felt like a waste of time — pointless.
"Hey kid, how sure are you that this is the right place? Because I've been circling around this place searching for what felt like forever, but I don't see anything or at least find anything tangible," Morda said, lowering his gun.
"Detective, I'm certain that is the place. I don't know what you might be talking about, but from my computer screen that factory house is not even a yellow spot, but a red one — a big one indeed," the man over the earpiece confirmed.
"Then if that's the case, where the hell is everything? Because this place is starting to creep me out," Morda said, getting uncomfortable.
Morda may have been a police officer in his late sixties, and from the description earlier, some things weren't shown. Morda wore glasses, had a very well-groomed moustache, and had a big belly that was really having a hard time holding his jacket together.
"Are you still not finding anything, Detective?" the man over the earpiece asked.
"Nothing— but wait," Morda said. He thought he heard something.
He kept quiet and listened very carefully — and Morda wasn't wrong. He indeed heard something; a mechanical sound was turning on in another part of the factory house.
"Detective, what is it?" the man over the earpiece sounded worried.
"Do you hear that?" Morda touched his earpiece.
"Hear what?" the man replied, confused.
Morda didn't answer him. He just looked around to see where the sound was coming from. He looked around the lower level floor, which he was on, but didn't find anything. Then, he looked over to the upper level floor — and he saw a light behind a door.
"Got you, you sons of bitches," Morda muttered as he loaded his gun and raised it again.
Then he sneaked over to the upper level floor. He climbed the stairs, but since they were steel, they made a squeaky noise. Morda stopped, thinking he had made a sound and probably alerted whoever was on the other side of the door. But no one came out, and the machines kept running.
"Right, those goddamn loud machines are so loud they're preventing them from hearing anything," Morda realized.
He climbed the stairs quickly and finally got to the upper floor. It looked like one of those places where the whole upper floor was made of steel platforms.
Morda was very steady as he sneaked to the door. On the outside, it was written Employees Only. He tried the door to see if it was locked or not — but luckily for him, when he pushed it, the door opened.
"Thank you, Lord," he whispered gratefully. He peeped inside to see what was happening — only to find the same machines he saw on the lower floor now working perfectly, and there were people stacking a large number of boxes.
He made sure to be very careful. He avoided being seen — after all, there were guards pacing up and down carrying very big guns.
"Detective, detective, detective, are you there?" his earpiece screeched in his ear, causing Morda to yank it off.
"Fuck!" he said out loud.
The machines stopped working, and he heard murmurs behind the door. One of the guards opened it — only to find Morda waiting with his hand on the trigger.
"Oh, now you just ruined the surprise," he said and pulled the trigger.
The gun fired, and the bullet went straight through the guard's temple.
After he fell, blood spilling out, the other guards didn't check on their colleague. All they did was start shooting at Morda.
Morda was quick enough to close the door shut and move out of the way. He hid behind the steel metallic door, using it as his shield.
Shots were fired nonstop — even though the guards had no idea where or what they were shooting at. All they did was keep firing, determined not to give Morda a chance. Their guns seemed to shoot forever without stopping.
Finally, their bullets ran out, and they had no choice but to reload. That gave Morda the opening he'd been praying for. He opened the door and shot each guard without needing to aim — and he did it precisely. He shot all of them in the head.
He hid again because he didn't know nor was sure that he'd gotten all of them. He looked at his gun — an eight-shot silver revolver.
Since he shot four guards in total, it meant he had four bullets left.
Morda remained hidden for a while. Then he realized that no one else was coming after him. He carefully opened the door, pointing his gun. Even if he had taken care of the guards, he still had to be cautious.
Morda saw that all the guards were lying dead on the floor, and those who were stacking and packing boxes had long scattered and run away, leaving the machines running on their own.
He went over, unpacked the boxes, and tore them open — only to see the most dangerous drug that had taken his partner: Ophelia, a very small, candy-like black pill.
Morda fixed his earpiece. "Kid, we finally cracked the case."
But there wasn't anyone on the other end of the line.
"Kid, kid, are you there? Did you hear me? I said we finally cracked the case!"
Still no response. Morda took off his earpiece and looked at it. All he heard was static scratching noises. It must have died — that's what he at least thought.
The machines suddenly turned off. Morda looked at the off button — and since he was the only one there, and he wasn't the one who turned it off, he knew this was far from over. Someone was still there.
And the weird part was that he was staring at the office. Morda held his gun tight and walked toward it. He kicked the door open — and found someone sitting there, facing the other direction.
"I finally found you, motherfucker! Your hands behind your head, now!" he shouted, pointing his gun.
The person did exactly as told. Morda walked toward him slowly.
"Now turn around so I can finally see the face of the devil," he said, pressing his gun against the man's head.
The person turned around slowly — smiling.
"You?!" Morda couldn't believe his eyes.
"Hello, Detective. It's such an honor to finally meet you," the person said and winked.
Bang.
Just like that, a bullet pierced through Morda's head. He dropped his gun and fell to the floor.
In his last moments, he looked at the person he had waited so long to meet — but he never expected it to be him.
"Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but you know I'm a very busy man," the person said. He crouched, tapped Morda on the chest, then stood up and left.
Morda was helpless. All he could do was feel the bullet hole in his head and hear his final breath escape one last time — before he took his last breath and died.