Dawn had not fully broken.Fog still clung thickly to the car windshield, like a thin layer of cold, damp skin.
Minh Phong stood still for a few seconds before opening the door, his eyes fixed on the small handprint clearly pressed against the glass.
It was still there.
Not fading.Not running with moisture.Nothing like an ordinary handprint left by condensation.
Chi stood behind him, lowering his voice.
"Are you sure it wasn't there earlier?"
Phong nodded.
"I'm sure."
He reached out and lightly touched the mark.
A sharp chill shot straight up his spine, precise and deep—like a needle driven directly into flesh.This wasn't the cold of the night air.It was a cold with intent.
Chi instinctively pulled his hand back.
"It feels like someone just placed their hand here."
Phong didn't reply. He took out his phone and photographed the handprint from several angles. On the screen, the ridges appeared unnaturally clear—long, thin, and distorted, nothing like a normal child's hand.
"The fingers are too long," Chi said quietly.
"Yeah," Phong replied. "And the spacing between the joints is uneven."
He slipped the phone into his coat pocket and opened the car door. Cold air spilled out from inside the cabin, even though the engine was still warm. Phong glanced briefly at the back seat.
Empty.
Yet it felt as though someone had just… left.
They walked into the station in silence.
Room 204 was still lit. Doan looked up as they entered, fatigue and unease lingering in his eyes.
"Captain Phong… what happened out there? The power in the backyard area just tripped."
Phong placed the evidence bag on the desk. Under the fluorescent light, the black letters stood out clearly:
The FacelessOnly hunts the guilty.
Doan swallowed.
"This… this is a joke, right?"
Chi gave a dry laugh.
"If only."
Phong opened his laptop and connected the security drive. The screen displayed footage from Tam Thanh Lake. He slowed it down, frame by frame.
The tall, thin figure appeared at the edge of the fog, walking at an even pace. Not hurried. Not sneaking.
"He isn't avoiding the cameras," Chi observed.
"Because he doesn't need to," Phong said.
Phong zoomed in.
The shoulders, chest, arms—everything was clear.But the face…
A blurred gray void, as if the camera could not find a single point to focus on.
Doan's voice trembled.
"Could it be signal interference? Or light reflection?"
Phong shook his head.
"Not at this distance. Not with this type of camera."
He paused the video at the moment the figure stepped into the center of the lake.
From that point onward—nothing.
No reflection.No ripples.As if he had never existed.
A phone rang sharply, slicing through the heavy silence.
Phong answered.
"Captain Phong," the duty officer said urgently. "Another missing person. Dong Dang."
Phong closed his eyes for a brief second.
"Details."
"Male. Forty-two. Porter. Lives alone. Neighbors say they haven't seen him since last night."
Chi leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly.
"Another one no one was watching."
Phong ended the call. In his mind, scattered fragments began locking together with chilling clarity.
Not random victims.Not random locations.
This was selection.
Nearly four a.m., the station drifted into a half-awake state. Corridor lights flickered. Wind slipped through the windows, carrying biting fog.
Then—
Crying.
Soft.Broken.Directionless.
Chi shot to his feet.
"You hear that?"
Phong had already stood up at the first sound.
It didn't echo.Didn't bounce off walls.It felt as if the sound was being produced directly in the air, right beside them.
An officer rushed in, face pale.
"Captain Phong! There's a child crying in the backyard!"
They ran down the corridor. The back door stood wide open. Fog rolled thickly, bending the light itself. The crying grew clearer—but its source remained impossible to pinpoint.
Then Chi froze.
Near the far wall of the yard, a child stood there.
No face.No eyes. No nose. No mouth.
Just a vague childlike shape, its skin smooth and blank, as if it had never been given features.
The crying came from it—yet its face did not move.
"Phong…" Chi whispered. "That's not human."
Phong drew his gun. His finger rested on the trigger by instinct. But something stopped him—a strange sensation, as if shooting it would be meaningless.
The child lifted its head.
Behind it, the fog shifted.
A tall, thin figure slowly stepped forward.Unhurried.Silent.Faceless.
The yard lights went out.
The crying ceased.
The silence became so thick Phong could hear his own heartbeat. A stream of cold air slid across the back of his neck—not wind, but something moving.
Then the lights snapped back on.
The yard was empty.
Only a small piece of paper lay on the damp concrete.
Phong bent down and picked it up.
The FacelessOnly hunts the guilty.
He slipped it into an evidence bag.
A single, icy thought echoed clearly in his mind:
It wasn't hiding.It was guiding them.
And they had just officially stepped into the game of something that no longer had a face.