It was a dark and stormy night. I was sitting in my office, smoking a cigarette; the acrid tendrils of smoke spiralling into the stagnant air, fixated on the heaps of files on my desk. The files, each holding the secrets of the most enigmatic case I’d ever confronted; a series of robberies that had been plaguing the city for months. Jewellery stores, banks, museums, nothing was safe from the thief who had a knack for breaking in and out, leaving behind no trace save for one audacious taunt: fingerprints.
These reckless prints were the thief’s challenge to my sanity, an unrelenting torment that inexplicably tied me to their crimes, for every search in the database only unveiled my own identity. The puzzle gnawed at my sanity. Was I a fractured soul, wrestling with a sinister duality, or had I been ensnared in a labyrinthine plot by an unseen adversary? My grasp on reality slipped like sand through my fingers.
I had no answers. Only questions. And a feeling of dread that grew with every new robbery. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I had to find the thief and confront them. I had to find out the truth. I had to clear my name.
I tracked everything the thief had done, trying to get inside their mind. A pattern of targets, a schedule of times, a signature of methods. Gradually, I found myself predicting their next move, understanding the very workings of their deviant psyche.
It was a casino. A high-stakes game of poker was going on in a private room. The thief had planned to steal the pot and escape through the back door. I was there to stop them.
I hid in the security room, watching through the one-way mirror as the thief entered the room. They moved with confidence and grace, as if they owned the place. They approached the table and pulled out a gun.
“Nobody move!” they shouted. “This is a robbery!”
The players froze in fear. The dealer reached for an alarm button, but the thief shot him in the hand.
“I said nobody move!” they repeated. “Now, give me all the money!”
They grabbed a bag and started stuffing it with cash. They didn’t notice me behind them. I grabbed their arm firmly, unmasked them, revealing a shocking doppelgänger – me, but not me. A copy, an empty vessel. They looked at me with surprise. I looked at them with shock. “Drop the gun!” I ordered.
They had my face, my voice, my fingerprints. But not my soul.
They smiled wickedly and said “Hello, detective. Long time no see.”
Then they pulled the trigger. I dodged the bullet and tackled them to the ground.
In the ensuing fight, our bodies collided, a battle of mirrored souls and ideals. But I harboured an advantage, an unwavering fury at their exploitation of innocence and the violation of my identity. I wrested control of the gun, and my voice thundered, “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
They laughed maniacally and said:
“I am you, detective. And you are me. We are one and the same. We were created as an experiment by an organisation that wanted to use us as weapons. But we escaped and decided to live our own lives. You chose to be a cop. I chose to be a crook. You chose to uphold the law. I chose to break it. You chose to be boring. I chose to be fun.”
“You are nothing but a puppet, detective. A pawn in a game you don’t understand. A slave to your morals and your rules. You have no idea what it means to be free.”
They grinned wickedly and said “But don’t worry, detective. I’ll show you what it means to be free.”
They reached for something in their pocket.
A detonator.
They pressed it.
A bomb went off in the casino. Fire and smoke filled the air. Screams and sirens echoed in my ears.
I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I looked down and saw blood dripping from my wound. I looked up and saw them lying next to me, still smiling.
They whispered in my ear:
“Goodbye, detective.”
As they closed their eyes and died, I too closed my eyes and died.
- Darkness, Power and Beauty
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