And I'm too in my head
So I'm sorry if this makes no sense
But the doors still open
If you want to take another chance

Broken glasses have cutting edges. Cutting edges produce severe damage. Severe damage causes pain. Pain.

I was a broken glass with cutting edges that produced severe damage and caused pain. In simpler words, I wasn't someone you could fix. If someone did try to fix me, they ended up getting severely damaged with my cutting edges, all of this leading them to suffer pain. That was why no one tried to fix me anymore. Not that I wanted to be fixed anyways.

Not now, not ever.

Even so, sometimes I got tired of having a phone and not using it. Of having spare nights with no one to go out with. Of drinking alone. Of living like a depressed fifty year old man. I wasn't a depressed fifty year old man. Maybe I was depressed, but I was twenty six and had plenty of time ahead of me.

Still, if someone had to fix me, that would be myself.

I had realized life wasn't always fair, but I couldn't relapse on alcohol and cigarettes every time something bad happened. I had to get my shit together, which was scattered all across an empty football field. I had to walk through it, picking up every single thing that belonged to me. Maybe I would get tired of walking, but my stuff was waiting to be collected and it was my job to do that, though I needed them to wait because, how am I supposed to run if I lost my legs a long time ago?

My strength to fly had left together with my wife. She used to be my light; the girl with a sunshine glow, the girl who knew all of my secrets, the girl whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, the girl I loved. But she decided she was done with me and simply walked out of my life wearing a white dress and kitten heels.

I guess she didn't love me as I thought she did.

My only wire to earth was my sister. Gemma Styles, hell of a lady. She had always been the type of person that worried about the environment and social problems like rights for black people, abortion, respect for the LGBTQ+ community and stuff, things I honestly couldn't give a shit about. I'm not against them, I just don't really care. The world ends tomorrow, so what.

Anyways, back to the point. When she turned fifteen, she started charity campaigns for kids in Africa that had no food, water, households or clothing. At eighteen, she had already been active in more than fifty three campaigns, all of them for different purposes. At twenty four, she joined an NGO on god knows what. Then, when she turned twenty six, she started focusing on bigger problems involving the law, such as abortion and rights for LGBTQ+ and black people. I admired her, even if she chose topics I didn't care about.

Gemma was good to everyone, especially to me. She always said I was her favourite person ever and that she loved me. Then, when she started traveling, I stopped seeing her. She texted me once a week to make sure I hadn't killed myself or something, and she had always been the reason I was still on ground and not underground.

Now, she was coming back to London. For a short while though. Kind of like a mini vacation. I was happy because I missed her so much and I needed somebody to talk to.

After all, I'm only human.

The inert smoke of the cigarette flattened against my tongue, falling down to my throat and finishing its trip on my chest. The powerful taste of debris fiddled with the tip of my tongue and I hollowed my cheeks in order to collect more of the poisonous fume.

My FBI plate laid on the wooden table in front of me, sparkling under the tortuous white lights. It made no sense anymore. Nothing made sense anymore, having this plate but not being able to honor it. That wasn't fair. Someone else deserved this badge and that was why I had to turn it in.

But I didn't want to turn it in.

I didn't want to quit my job, since it was one of the mere things that I still had, even though it didn't make me happy anymore. I lived out of this badge and now I was going to get rid of it. I couldn't do this.

But it didn't feel right to keep it either. I had to make a choice: fight or flight. I wanted to flight, but the feeling in my gut told me I had to fight. I couldn't. I was too tired.

The hesitation in my movements was visible from a mile apart when I decided I still had a little bit of strength left in me. I couldn't even look at that plate, since the only thing I saw reflected on it was failure. Because I had failed. And now I was trapped within the walls of decisions.

My hand felt heavy when I lifted it to wrap my fingers around the golden FBI badge, just when I heard five steady quick knocks on my door. Immediately, I knew who that was. Captain Lunar.

He didn't even wait for me to answer when he burst into my office the moment I put my cigarette down on the ashtray. "Styles! Thank god you're still here."

Under his arm were tons of files, meaning he had a new case for me. Honestly, I wasn't really in the mood, but I could use a distraction. After all, I was, in fact, the best FBI agent.

"We have a new case for you."

"Let me see."

Lunar handed me only two of the whole stack of papers, which I frowned at but dismissed. The first file was really thin, only one paper in it. Usually, this meant we didn't have much leads to follow on the case. These cases where the hardest ones. Quickly, I read the basic information.

Case: Disappearance
Name: Natalie Perkins
Age: 25
Physical appearance: 5' 7" - short black hair - dark eyes - pale skin
Last seen: November 1st - municipal garbage dumpster

A picture of the girl was attached underneath. She was very hot.

"November first? Wasn't that like two weeks ago?" I frowned.

"Yeah, but her parents are desperate and they say she was very attached to them, so her not showing up isn't normal." Lunar sighed, wetting his lips.

This made no sense. A case couldn't be labeled as Disappearance within half a month. As far as we were concerned, maybe the girl decided to go on a trip or something. Disappearances were testified as Disappearances after a month, but sometimes people in the FBI agency were so fucking careless.

"Why would she be in a municipal garbage dumpster and how do we know it was actually her?"

I knew something wasn't right about all of this. It was different than other times. I don't know why, but something just felt wrong and I didn't like this at all.

"Her best friend, um... Liam Payne, I think, said he drove her there because she had some stuff to do. She told him to leave and, then, she disappeared." The captain explained. "But that's not it. Read the next file."

I glanced sideways at my boss and shifted the papers in my hands so now the new file was on top. This one was a thin one as well. Fuck, this was going to be hard.

Case: Murder
Name: Samuel Adams
Age: Unknown
Physical appearance: Unknown
Last seen: November 2nd - municipal garbage dumpster

This is so not right.

"He was found the day after the girl's disappearance in a municipal garbage dumpster tied up to a chair literally mutilated. There was a red rose on his lap and he was so tortured the doctors almost didn't recognize him." Lunar talked. "Read these."

He then placed on my desk the rest of the files, which I grabbed reluctantly and started reading. All of them were murder cases that had happened throughout the last two weeks -after the girl's vanishment.

Case: Murder
Name: Alan Grand
Age: Unknown
Physical appearance: Unknown
Last seen: November 3rd - municipal garbage dumpster

Case: Murder
Name: Sean Cook
Age: Unknown
Physical appearance: Unknown
Last seen: November 4th - municipal garbage dumpster

And the list continued. Fourteen men, all of them murdered with a gap of twenty four hours in the same way. This killer tied them up in a chair in a municipal garbage dumpster - never the same dumpster, I might as well add - and mutilated the fuck out of each one of them, making sure one finger was always untouched so we could actually discover the identity of the murdered. The killer's signature was a red rose which had been found on the men's lap every time. All of them murdered in municipal garbage dumpsters. All of them men. All of them ghosts.

I had no idea where to start because I didn't even know the gender of the killer, though I presumed it was a man. I didn't think a girl was capable of doing this.

The last murder had been today, which meant the killer would be active tomorrow -if he attacked in the order we had in mind. Our only way of knowing about this murders were the security guards. The most probable option was that the assassin killed his victims somewhere else and left the body on the dumpster for it to be find, because the patrolmen guarded the place 24/7, so there was no possible way for him to torture someone in broad daylight, especially not being alone.

The only thing that came to my mind right now was trying to find a pattern on the dumpster choices so we knew where he was going to strike again. I didn't even know if there was an actual pattern between each dumpster, but we had to try.

So we would.

Hi y'all,
meet Harry.