The Gifted Divide

"But secondly you say 'society must exact vengeance, and society must punish'. Wrong on both counts. Vengeance comes from the individual and punishment from God." - Victor Hugo (The Last Day of a Condemned Man)

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Lucas Alescio had woken that morning expecting a routine day, or at least something that didn't involve plunging into the grim depths of human depravity.

Yet here he was, standing on the edge of an isolated forest so remote it felt swallowed by silence and shadow, staring up at a body suspended upside down from a gnarled tree branch, the corpse bearing unmistakable signs of torment and mutilation.

This was no ordinary homicide. It was a statement. A cruel message scrawled in blood and pain.

Lucas exhaled slowly, a weary sigh that barely displaced the cold weight settling in his chest as he tore his gaze away from the hanging figure and back to the scattered forensic team clustered beneath the yellow tape.

His fingers hovered over his ever-present notebook, where he had been scribbling fragmented observations—details that might soon piece together a story no one wanted to hear.

Among the forensic experts was Louis Krusen.

Lucas's mind ticked over the memories: before transferring to Special Operations under Misha's leadership, Louis had been one of Forensics' brightest stars—young, prodigious, and stubbornly brilliant.

The rumours Lucas had heard were no exaggeration. Louis was one of the best forensic minds on the force, so much so that the head of Forensics had fought fiercely to keep him when Special Operations came calling.

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From the thicket behind him came the unmistakable sound of retching. Lucas's eyes flicked briefly toward the bushes, where Maia Travis, Team Delta's medic, was struggling against her own queasiness. How the girl could face the horrors of battle but falter at the sight of death itself was a mystery Lucas doubted he'd ever understand.

Meanwhile, several members of Team Alpha, paired with Misha's contingent from Team Delta, were combing through the nearby dilapidated shack—its weathered wood and peeling paint an ominous sentinel in the undergrowth. Lucas last saw Misha himself leading the inspection, his dark eyes sharp and focused beneath his raven-black hair.

The remote location was key to understanding why the body had remained undiscovered for so long. If it weren't for a weekly courier—a lonely, unknowing soul who braved this wilderness on routine supply runs, the corpse might have remained hidden indefinitely.

Lucas imagined the courier's shock at stumbling upon such a macabre scene, his quiet delivery shattered by the grotesque spectacle. The poor courier had likely lost several years of his life as a result.

Though Lucas was no forensic pathologist, the dried, congealed blood splattered beneath the victim and the subtle signs of decomposition told a grim tale: the man had been dead for at least two days, his body left to rot in silence beneath the indifferent canopy.

A low voice cut through the muffled rustling of the forest. "Lucas."

He looked up just in time to meet Leonid's grave gaze as the second-in-command approached. The weight in Leonid's expression was unmistakable.

"How is it?" Lucas asked, bracing himself.

"I left Taylor and Elijah at the shack to continue the investigation." Leonid's eyes flickered toward the crumbling building. "Forensics will need to conduct a thorough autopsy back at headquarters, but what we've gathered here already sketches a disturbingly clear picture."

Leonid held out an evidence bag, its sealed plastic catching the pale morning light. Inside lay a severed hand—pale and lifeless, the fingers curled as if in final protest.

Lucas glanced toward the body being carefully lowered to the ground by the forensic team. The missing hand explained Maia's earlier distress. The mutilation was no random act of brutality; it was a deliberate, cruel signature.

Every ESA agent, every shadow that prowled the underbelly of the city, understood the meaning behind a severed hand left at a crime scene.

It was a silent, ruthless message from the underground—an unspoken warning that the victim had crossed a line from which there was no return, and that their fate was the result of a retribution that was merciless and absolute.

Lucas fought down the urge to groan. This case was spiralling into something far darker and more complex than a simple murder. "What about the victim's identity?" he asked, his voice low but urgent.

"Jonan and Allen took DNA samples before sending them back to HQ for analysis." Leonid's voice was steady, but Lucas caught the subtle tightness in his jaw. "They'll run the matches through the database. For now, this is as far as we can go here. At least until Elijah and Taylor finish their work on the shack."

Lucas nodded, eyes drifting once more toward the looming silhouette of the shack. The secrets it held were undoubtedly tied to the cruel message hanging in the tree.

"Let's pack up."