COPS

Chapter V: Riddles With No Answers

The fog hadn't yet lifted from San Francisco when the call came in.

A jogger had made the discovery. She'd been cutting across Levi's Stadium on her morning run-past the service gate, near the loading dock-when she saw something propped up beneath the bleachers. At first, she thought it was a mannequin.

It wasn't.

The body was headless. Again.

And this time, the fan left more than just gore.

He left a riddle.

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The stadium had been cleared. Yellow tape strung up across the dock entrance, officers standing guard, news drones circling above like digital vultures.

Alex Lassiter crouched near the body, his gloved hand steady as he lifted the slip of paper left in the chest cavity-tucked neatly under a severed vertebra.

The writing was in the same scratchy, slanted hand as before.

"To the one who cleans the sins,
I left a gift where silence grins.
You preach of justice, sharp and neat-
But what of those you fail to meet?"

Alex handed it to Sergeant Julian Stewart, who read it silently, jaw clenched.

"Another riddle," she muttered. "Great. That's what we need."

Ryan stood off to the side, hands in his coat pockets, unmoving. His eyes locked on the body-not with panic, but with dissection. The position. The cut. The poetry.

It wasn't random.

The Fan had escalated.

He didn't just want a conversation now. He wanted an audience.

Forensic analyst John Jacobs arrived, lugging his kit.

"CCTV's been pulled from outside the stadium," he said, barely catching his breath. "We got a guy in a long coat, hood up, mask on. He wheels the body in on a dolly, disappears inside."

He popped open his laptop and clicked through the grainy footage.

There-just past 3:02 AM-a tall figure in a dark coat approached the stadium gates. He moved with purpose. Not panic. The kind of calm you didn't learn. You were born with it.

He glanced once toward the camera.

The mask was white. Blank. Eyeless.

Almost... smiling.

"We also got footage from a street cam three blocks west," Jacobs added. "Caught a van pulling out. Same timestamp. Got a plate number off it: VMR-203."

Ryan stirred. "Registered?"

"Used to belong to a guy named Carter Finn. But get this-van's been scrapped. We found it dumped in a junkyard off Mission Street. Owner says someone broke in last night, dropped it off, and vanished."

"Another riddle left in the glovebox," Jacobs added, handing over a photo of it:

"Watch me build,
Watch me bleed,
What I become is what you need.
I am your mirror, but cracked with care-
Find me where the masks all stare."

Dr. Hans Schultz stepped forward, arms folded. "He's creating a pattern. Symbolic geography. He's laying breadcrumbs for someone specific."

Alex nodded grimly. "Ryan Any Thoughts?".

"This Fan Is Trying To Get Himself Killed And Noticed It's A Bit Complicated It's Fascinating" Ryan Answers Nicely Politely

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