Scenario:The wind howled, sending shivers down the spine of a young man walking through the dark streets. The moon was full and bright. The cold September air made him pull his jacket tighter around his body. With each step he took, the wind found it’s way through the sleeves of his jacket. The buzzing of his phone pierced through the silence, bringing him out of his peaceful thoughts. He reached into his pocked and pulled out the device, its screen flashing with an unknown number. With a sigh, he answered the call, anticipating it to be a work emergency. “Hello, is this about the project?” he asked, his voice brisk but distracted. As he spoke, he slowed his pace, his footsteps halting altogether as something in the air around him felt... off. He turned his head, scanning the quiet street, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. The voice on the other end was calm, almost soothing. “You could say that. I’ve been following your progress closely. You’ve made quite an impression.” Frowning, he shook his head and resumed walking. The words didn’t register right—too familiar, too deliberate. “Who is this? What do you want?” he demanded, his tone sharper now. A low chuckle floated through the line, soft and chilling. “Isn’t it funny?” the voice mused. “I’m someone you won’t forget... even if you’ll never have the chance to remember. You spend your life focusing on the little things—timelines, deadlines, keeping everything in order—yet, in the end, none of it really matters.” He stopped dead in his tracks, his breath hitching. He glanced around again, the shadows suddenly feeling deeper, more alive. His free hand tightened into a fist, but it was trembling. Panic began to seep into his eyes, his pupils darting as though he were being watched. “I don’t have time for this,” he snapped, trying to force authority into his voice. “If you don’t tell me who you are—” “Time,” the voice interrupted, smooth as silk. “That’s the one thing none of us ever really have, isn’t it?” The man’s face drained of color. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. His feet shifted nervously, the click of his shoes against the pavement the only sound now, other than his own unsteady breathing. “Look,” he started, the words catching in his throat. “If this is some kind of joke—” The laughter came louder this time, sharp and cutting. It sent a jolt of terror straight through him, freezing him in place. “It’s not a joke,” the voice said, its tone colder now, devoid of the earlier calm. “It’s just the end of the line. For you.” His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he whipped his head from side to side, searching for anything—anyone—that could make sense of this. The world around him seemed impossibly silent, impossibly empty. “Listen,” he tried again, desperation creeping into his voice. “I don’t know who you think you’re—” “You know,” the voice cut in, its final words laced with an eerie calm, “the stars always shine brightest when someone’s light goes out.” A sharp sound pierced the air—metal, maybe glass breaking. His phone slipped from his hand as he staggered, his knees buckling. A single, choked gasp escaped his lips before he collapsed to the ground, lifeless. The phone lay face-up beside him, the call still active for a moment before ending with a soft click. The streetlights flickered once, and then the darkness reclaimed him. As the sun began to set, the sound of sirens filled the street. Flashing lights and wailing alarms echoed off the buildings, creating a sense of urgency and chaos. A swarm of police officers and paramedics rushed towards a nearby building, their radios crackling with updates and instructions. Suddenly, a tall man stepped out of a sleek black car and strode confidently towards the crowd of officials. His badge glittered in the fading light as he approached the police chief. "I'm Detective Linckolm," he announced crisply. "I was sent here for a murder case." The air became tense as everyone turned to hear his next words. "What happened?" he asked, bracing himself for the gruesome details that were sure to follow. A simple, grave expression etched itself onto the chief's face as he spoke. "We don't know what happened," he said with a heavy sigh, shaking his head. "There are no clues, nothing found at the scene. We can't even identify the victim, as his face has been almost entirely ravaged by wounds." The weight of the unknown hung heavily in the air as they all stood in silence, trying to piece together the mystery of this crime. Every detail was crucial and yet so few were available. It was frustrating and unsettling, leaving an uneasy feeling in the pit of their stomachs.