Death Justice System

Chapter 4

Elias left Room 402 without looking back.

The moment the dormitory door clicked shut, he pulled the brim of his cap lower and descended the stairs. His borrowed body still felt weak—a lingering, almost nauseating frailty—but he refused to let it dictate his pace. Every step was calculated. He had one clear objective.

Marcus Vance.

Outside, the morning air was sharp, smelling of wet asphalt and exhaust fumes. Students milled about the campus, clutching coffees and staring at their phones, hurrying toward their respective faculties. Elias ignored them all.

He stopped beneath the shadow of a large oak tree and pulled the wallet from his jacket. He extracted Adrian Kaelen’s student ID.

He needed to know exactly when he was.

He walked toward a digital information board mounted outside the nearest administration building. The screen displayed university announcements, weather updates, and the current date.

Tuesday, October 14, 2025.

The date meant nothing to Adrian. To Elias, it meant everything.

He knew Marcus Vance’s schedule almost by heart. He didn't need to guess where the man was. He knew exactly where Marcus would be at 10:30 this morning.

The Metropolitan Institute of Forensic Sciences.

Marcus was scheduled to deliver the keynote seminar: Beyond the Autopsy Table: Reconstructing Complex Homicides Through Forensic Evidence. It was Marcus's specialty. The man loved standing in front of an audience, presenting himself as the ultimate authority on death, all while hiding just how many deaths he had orchestrated.

Elias checked the time. 9:47 a.m.

He immediately headed toward the bus stop outside the university gates.

The bus arrived with a hiss of air brakes, and Elias climbed aboard, gripping the overhead metal rail as the vehicle lurched forward. His stomach cramped sharply, his legs protesting the effort, but he forced the discomfort to the back of his mind.

Outside the window, the city blurred past. Elias didn't care about the traffic, the buildings, or the crowds. His mind was already at the Institute, reconstructing the scene. Marcus would arrive early. He would shake hands with the director, make a few calculated jokes, and then take the stage to talk about how the dead could no longer lie.

The bus turned onto a wider commercial avenue.

Then, Elias saw it.

A massive billboard stood mounted on the side of a glass building. Marcus’s face appeared above the seminar announcement, smiling beneath the institute’s official seal. The silvering hair, the sharp features, the perfectly tailored dark suit.

Elias’s hand tightened around the metal pole until his knuckles turned bone-white.

The air in his lungs vanished. The same face had looked down at him in the autopsy suite. The same calm, calculating eyes had watched the poison enter his veins without a single trace of remorse.

He remembered the cold pressure of the syringe. The burning fire spreading through his bloodstream.

The metal rail creaked softly under Elias's grip. A faint tremor ran up his arm. He didn't blink. He simply stared at the smiling face on the billboard until the bus moved past it, his breathing shallow, his jaw locked so tight his teeth ached.

He slowly released his grip. It wasn't just anger. It was a cold, absolute certainty. Marcus was alive, walking free, bathing in applause, completely unaware that the man he had murdered was coming for him.

By the time Elias stepped off the bus, the rage had been compressed into something far more useful. Focus.

The Metropolitan Institute of Forensic Sciences loomed ahead, a monument to academic prestige. Its glass facade reflected the morning sun, and crowds of professionals and students were already bottlenecking at the entrance.

Elias didn't just walk up to the doors. He stopped across the street and observed.

His forensic instincts took over, dissecting the environment. Two security guards at the main entrance, checking lanyards. Blue lanyards for attendees, red for VIPs and speakers, black for staff. He noted the camera placements—one above the revolving doors, two flanking the registration desk inside. He watched the rhythm of the guards, how they verified digital barcodes on phones and waved people through.

It was a closed ecosystem. And Elias had no credentials.

He crossed the street and approached the entrance, keeping his head slightly down.

A security guard stepped into his path, raising a hand. "Identification or attendee barcode, please."

Elias stopped. "I don't have one."

The guard frowned, looking Elias up and down. The faded jacket, the baseball cap, the pale, exhausted face. "Registration is inside, but you need a pre-approved invitation for Professor Vance's keynote."

"I need to speak with him."

"You and everyone else," the guard said, his tone turning dismissive. "Step aside, please. You're blocking the line."

Elias could have argued. He could have caused a scene. But that would only draw the attention of the cameras and the police. He simply nodded and stepped away, melting back into the shadow of the building.

He watched the front doors for another minute. He needed a way in.

His eyes slowly scanned the perimeter, moving away from the glass facade toward the western edge of the building. A narrow, shaded alleyway ran along the side of the institute.

A memory surfaced. Not Adrian’s. His own.

Years ago, Marcus had brought him to this very building for a private meeting. They had stood in that exact alley, Marcus smoking a cigarette while complaining about the organizers.

Marcus had pointed to a heavy steel door set into the concrete.

Never use the front door if you can avoid it, Marcus had said with a quiet laugh. Too many eyes.

Elias stared at the alley. Marcus had taught him that rule years ago.

Now Elias was using it to get to him.

He waited until the security guard was distracted by a group of loud students, then slipped around the corner of the building. The noise of the street instantly faded, muffled by the thick concrete walls.

He approached the heavy steel door. A service entrance.

Elias grabbed the handle and pressed the latch. It clicked. Unlocked.

He pulled it open and slipped inside, letting the door gently close behind him.