A Hunter Made from Shadows

9

Lorenzo opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Because the insane world Michael described, though impossible for them to truly understand, fit disturbingly well with every action the murderer had taken so far.

Michael stopped speaking.

He simply stood there, quietly waiting for Ashley’s final decision.

He had already given the script.

Now it depended on whether the director dared to call, “Action.”

Ashley’s gaze swept across every hesitant face in the room before finally settling on Michael’s unfathomable eyes.

She knew he was right. They were facing a madman who could not be measured by normal logic. And to confront a madman, perhaps they truly needed another “madman.”

“Alright.”

The word was forced out between Ashley’s teeth, heavy and resolute. She looked straight at Michael, her eyes holding nothing but determination.

“I want a flawless containment plan.”

A faint, gentle curve appeared at the corner of Michael’s lips.

He walked toward the massive schematic of the subway system. At some point, the gold-rimmed glasses of the “Thousand Faces” had returned to the bridge of his nose.

The ability [Perfect Layout] activated instantly.

His mind transformed into a supercomputer. In his vision, the tangled subway lines, ventilation shafts, cable trenches, and abandoned maintenance corridors broke apart into countless streams of usable data.

He did not point with his hands. His eyes moved swiftly across the diagram.

“One SWAT unit will disguise themselves as night-shift maintenance workers and enter through the spare cable shaft between Lines 3 and 8. Move the entire route in darkness and disable all active light sources.”

His voice was steady, unhurried, and every instruction was precise.

“This entrance is eight hundred meters in a straight line from Ghost Platform Seven. There are seven abandoned vents along the way that can be used as observation points. However, the fourth and sixth have water damage, you’ll need portable floating boards to cross.”

A technician immediately pulled up the 3D structural model on the computer. It matched Michael’s description perfectly, even the pooled water locations were exact.

Lorenzo watched from the side, unable to hide the shock in his eyes.

These were classified materials. How could an actor know all this?

He knew this underground labyrinth better than the subway’s own designers.

Michael ignored his reaction and continued.

“The second SWAT team enters through the main ventilation duct on the north side of People’s Square. There’s an infrared sensor at the entrance, but its refresh rate is 3.7 seconds. Move fast enough and you’ll pass without triggering it.”

“After descending thirty meters, you’ll find an abandoned drainage channel running parallel to Line Seven. Follow it south for five hundred and fifty meters and you’ll reach the lower level beneath the ghost platform.”

His voice remained calm, as though he were reciting something he had memorized long ago.

The routes he designed avoided all standard entrances and surveillance zones, weaving a silent net through the underground like ghosts and rats in the dark.

“I want the entire Ghost Platform Seven surrounded silently within forty minutes.”

Michael turned to Ashley. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes glinted with an almost inhuman clarity.

“When I face the murderer, I want your presence to exist in every corner of his perception.”

“But no one moves without my order.”

“I want him to believe that only two actors exist on that stage.”

Then he glanced at the SWAT members.

“And you are the set, the walls, the shadows, the darkness itself.”

The entire headquarters was stunned by the force of Michael’s command.

He wasn’t offering advice. He was directing a war.

A silent hunt deep beneath the city. And he himself was the most dangerous bait walking into the trap.

Ashley took a deep breath, forcing down the storm in her chest.

She picked up the walkie-talkie on the table. Her voice trembled slightly with excitement, but every word was firm and clear.

“Operation Commander Ashley speaking.”

“All units, begin executing Operation Morpheus immediately.”

“All teams, follow Michael’s deployment and move out now!”

Lorenzo’s lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing.

He stood up, gave Ashley a heavy nod, then turned and strode out of the conference room without looking back.

He would personally handle the outer perimeter. That was the only role Michael had assigned him.

Clearing out unrelated personnel, keeping the area sterile, ensuring the stage was clean enough, 

Field control.

Ashley walked over to Michael and handed him a button-sized communicator and a patch-style vital sign monitor.

Her fingers were cold.

“This is a single-line channel. Only I can hear you,” she said quietly. Then she pointed to the monitor. “Your heart rate and blood pressure will be transmitted to my phone in real time. If anything goes abnormal, I will break in no matter what it takes.”

Michael nodded and accepted the devices calmly, hiding them with practiced ease inside his collar and along his wrist.

Ashley looked at him, at his face, far too young and far too composed, and countless words gathered in her throat.

In the end, she only said three.

Those three words carried the duty of a police officer.

“Survive.”

Michael looked up and gave her a gentle smile, the kind that belonged to Professor Laurence.

“Captain Lin, don’t worry.”

“A good actor never dies before the curtain falls.”

With that, he turned and walked out the door.

His back was straight and resolute, without a single trace of hesitation.

Alone, he walked toward the bottomless underground stage.

***

\Five minutes before departure. Michael didn’t speak to anyone. He walked alone into an empty restroom.

Cold white light poured down from above, illuminating the large mirror in front of him.

He looked at his reflection.

On that handsome face, there was still a trace of youthful innocence belonging to the actor.

But he knew that beneath the skin, something was quietly changing.

He raised his hand and carefully adjusted his shirt collar.

It was Laurence’s signature gesture before every psychological induction in The Trial of the Hypnotist.

He had done it unconsciously.

He lifted his eyes to the mirror again.

The corners of Michael’s lips in the reflection slowly, uncontrollably, curved upward.

It was not a happy smile.

It was elegant, confident, and cruel.

A smile filled with control, as if the world itself were nothing more than a toy in his palm.

It belonged to Laurence, the lofty, twisted villain.

His humanity was being quietly eroded by that distorted character.

Yet he felt no fear.

Instead…He felt a faint sense of pleasure. He liked this feeling.

The feeling of holding everyone’s fate in his hands, police officers and criminals alike. They had all become actors in his script.

Ashley was the anxious yet trusting heroine.

Lorenzo was the stubborn supporting character who could only cooperate in the end.

The elite SWAT officers were shadows in the dark, waiting for his command.

And the murderer hiding on Ghost Platform Seven was his other lead role. The entire city was his stage. Michael’s Adam’s apple moved slightly.

He whispered softly to the “Laurence” in the mirror, in a voice only he could hear.

“The show begins.”