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Let's play a game

Summary:

An inconspicuous homicide turns into something much darker when the team arrives for further investigations. Suddenly the crime scene isn't only the little shop anymore, but expands itself into each of their private lives. The killer isn't after the kills. He is after Gil Arroyo's team.
He calls himself the Game Master.
And he wants to play a game.
You will lose.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Light at the end of the tunnel.

It sends out motivation, traveling in jolts of voltage on the synapses, colliding in the brain like an explosion. Nevertheless, the brain will register the new information, process the new data, and send it out. Back to his muscles, to his legs, pushing further. Run little human. Run for how long your legs will carry you.

Light at the end of the tunnel.

In the end nothing more than an oasis in the middle of the desert.

Yet the hope that builds up effortlessly can function as a pair of rose-colored glasses. Cloud the reality in a wonderful rainbow. Place a barrier between your imagination and brutal reality.

So that's how Bright found himself, running through the dark alley with a pair of rose-colored glasses on his nose. His lungs were burning in protest, his legs shaking. Nothing that could stop Malcolm from running further.

To the light at the end of the tunnel.

He craved it. For weeks he begged for an end. He was never yet granted a chance, a gap between all the disasters happening.

Until now. He'd rather die than let this chance slip from his fingers. That's why he needed to keep running. The footsteps behind him were permanently growing louder. And steadier. Fortunately, Malcolm had a good head start, although he worried it wouldn't be enough.

The light at the end of the tunnel came nearer.

It was no lie, it really existed. Only in his case, the tunnel was blocked. A door obstructed his access to freedom. The light escaping from the little gap between door and ground was enough to threaten tears in his eyes. To make his body shake in pleasant anticipation. To create energy and make it surge through his body. He was starting to think, with every new step he was elevating. Growing wings, bursting through the ceiling and flying into heaven.

He bumped against the door sooner than expected. He stumbled away in shock, his hands throbbing from the harsh impact. He never felt so much joy in such pain.

He fished out the tiny lockpicker, his trembling hands traveling to the locked door. Oh how he hated his tremor right now. If that was the reason he would fail he would cut off those useless limbs. Earlier when he had all the time in the world it had been so much easier. After that run and the footsteps gradually becoming louder, it became an impossible task.

Malcolm fumbled desperately with the lock, control slowly gliding from his grasp. As if it just fell to the ground his head glanced down.

To the light at the end of the tunnel.

The faint rays of sunshine crawling into this dark tunnel.

The moment you lose complete control of your doing, everything's lost. Bright knew that which is why he tried very hard not to lose his lockpicking mechanism, which obviously refused to work.

The footsteps grew louder.

Bright refused to accept he had long lost control. He was merely fumbling around with the tiny scrap, like a rookie breaking his first lock.

Click!

He heard it. He heard the first sign of breaking. Did he imagine that or was his luck actually allowing him to open this door?

The footsteps grew louder. Malcolm flinched, almost suspecting them to be next to his ear.

Fine by him. This lock was going down if it wanted or not. He ignored the self-inflicted slashes on his hand, the burning it conjured.

The lock revealed another clicking sound. This time Malcolm was sure he hadn't imagined the first sound. It worked. He was as good as out of this hell.

Despite the footsteps gradually becoming louder, Bright wasn't distracted. His sole attention was on the lock, breaking under his hands further. It didn't take much. He already tasted freedom. The warm tickling sunbeams on his pale skin. Fresh air brushing past his split-up lips into his lungs and system. Wind dancing through his messy and greasy hair.

He was outside, that he forgot he wasn't.

He was still in the tunnel while his mind was in the light.

And that changed everything. His whole vision broke when the rose-colored glasses fell down. The scales dropping from his eyes, the darkness of the tunnel engulfing him.

"Freeze!"

The footsteps came to a halt, directly behind him. He blinked confused at the lock. It still remained intact. Tears welled up in his eyes. He opened it, didn't he? He escaped this hell, he must escape it! He won't be able to survive another day- How could he allow this to happen? After all his efforts?

He had been free when he never was.

So close and yet miles away.

He dropped to his knees weakly. Where was hope? Motivation? His head fell down, searching for the little sun rays. Where was the light?

"Hands where I can see them!" The steady voice demanded firmly. A little out of breath from the chase, yet still in control. The gun was aimed at an already deceased human. Without hope, Malcolm was nothing more than a living corpse. Given up on life.

"I said hands up!" The man barked enraged. That disgusting voice Malcolm had gotten used to hating. Loathing burned through his every fiber. His muscles tensing up, his fists clenching and teeth crunching.

Malcolm raised to his feet, the person behind his back spitting out further threatening demands. Like a rookie, panicking without his partner. Pathetic.

Bright turned around. He raised his arms wordlessly. His face remained neutral, internally he was going crazy in homicidal fury. He glared the man deep into his eyes.

If he was going down, he'd drag him all along.

They would both go to hell.

"Good, now on your knees!" The man demanded rightfully. Did he think he was serving justice only because he said those words? Malcolm couldn't believe the world he was living in. The stupidity that didn't even spare at least one human being. His belief in the human race was long lost, but never so broken.

As he lowered himself down on his knees, he genuinely wondered. How he, Malcolm Bright, managed to get himself into such a situation.

Yet here he was.

Another Whitley being on the verge of getting cuffed by a wannabe cop.

Maybe it was his fate everyone kept extending to unnecessary lengths. Maybe he was indeed like his father. Maybe these murderous talents would be more of a help than what the law demanded.

Malcolm smirked, studying the other man with feral eyes. Even if he would go down. But not without a bang.

Nostalgically Malcolm remembered the last moments he spent as Bright. The moments that led him up to this miserable fate. He remembered them so he could say his last farewell.

 

He would definitely die as a Whitley.

Notes:

Welcome on board to my story!
I wanted to give you a warning that this story is one big fish. Like, it's the book no one ever wanted.
Therefore I promise to update the story every second day since it's already finished. All it needs is one last proofreading.
A friendly reminder to where we are in the timeline: before the finale, but pretty much after everything else (I don't want to clean up what Ainsley did, that isn't my job)
If you have further questions or feedback feel free to make use of the comment section below.
Now that that's said...
Enjoy :)