# Morning's End
*Chirp, chirp.*
Above the sprawling city, a flock of birds carved lazy arcs through the azure sky, their wings catching the morning light as they soared without a care in the world.
Below, golden sunbeams pierced through scattered clouds, painting the urban landscape in warm hues. The light fell upon the faces of commuters beginning their daily routines, briefly masking the grime and shadows that clung to the city's corners.
On a small hill overlooking this scene, a young man sat alone on a weathered bench, his face turned toward the ascending sun. The light revealed ordinary features—neither handsome nor plain, but notable for their clarity. His skin was unmarked by the exhaustion that plagued most people his age, free from dark circles and blemishes.
*It's been a week since I started these morning walks,* he thought, drawing a slow breath. *I should have done this years ago.*
The symphony of awakening nature surrounded him—rustling leaves, distant birdsong, the gentle whisper of wind through branches. For the first time in months, he felt truly alive.
*Ding.*
His phone's notification cut through the tranquility. A message from his mother: "Don't forget breakfast, sweetheart."
He smiled, warmth spreading through his chest. *Mom...*
With someone who cared for him like this, how could he fear failure?
*Don't worry, Mom. Just be patient. I will work hard so that you can relax and enjoy your days... I'm not like my gambling father. I'm... I'm better.*
Standing, he began his jog home, each step carrying him toward hope.
---
The rhythmic sound of his footsteps on pavement was interrupted by wailing sirens. An ambulance and police cars raced past, their lights painting the morning in harsh reds and blues.
*An accident this early?* He shook his head, dismissing the intrusion on his peaceful mood.
A block from home, he stopped at his usual corner store. The elderly owner was deep in conversation with another customer, their voices low but urgent.
"Excuse me," he said, approaching with a friendly smile. "What's all the commotion about? Those sirens woke half the neighborhood."
The shopkeeper's weathered face grew grave. "Terrible business. My cousin works dispatch—says there was a murder nearby this morning."
The young man's smile faltered. "A murder? In this area?"
"Right around the corner from decent folks, can you believe it?" The man shook his head. "World's going to hell, I tell you. Used to be you could sleep with your doors unlocked."
"Do they know where exactly?" The question came out tighter than intended.
The shopkeeper gestured vaguely. "West side, near those new apartments. Police aren't saying much, but..." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Word is it was messy. Real messy."
West. Toward home. Toward his mother.
Ice formed in his stomach as he mumbled his thanks and began to run.
"Hey, Rowan!" A neighbor—a portly man in his fifties—stepped into his path, breathing heavily. "Son, what's going on over at your building? All those ambulances got me worried sick."
"I don't know, Uncle Chen. I was out jogging—just got back myself." Rowan tried to sidestep, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Must be serious though, right? Haven't seen this many emergency vehicles since old Mrs. Kim had her heart attack." The man's grip tightened on Rowan's arm. "You don't think it's another break-in, do you? Been hearing about—"
"I really don't know!" The words exploded out of him. "I've been gone for two hours! How would I know what happened?"
Uncle Chen stepped back, startled by the outburst. "Hey now, no need to get worked up. I'm just concerned for the neighborhood, you know? Your mother always says we should look out for each other."
At the mention of his mother, something dangerous flickered in Rowan's eyes. His hand moved to cover the older man's mouth before he could think.
"Listen carefully," Rowan said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "I'm in a hurry. My mother might be in danger. So either help me or get out of my way."
Through the man's shocked expression, Rowan saw his own reflection in the neighbor's glasses—a distorted face wide-eyes with veins on the temple . He released his grip and ran.
---
Police cars and ambulances surrounded his apartment building like buzzards around carrion. Personnel in white coats emerged carrying a stretcher, a sheet covering two still forms—one large, one heartbreakingly small.
The world tilted. Sound became muffled, colors drained away. A police officer was explaining—home invasion, mother and child from upstairs, suspect named James Morrison—but the words bounced off him like rain on stone. Only one detail carved itself into his mind:
*James.*
The name of the killer.
Rowan's legs gave out. He found himself sitting on the curb, staring at his hands. These same hands had been reaching for his phone to call his mother just minutes ago. Now they trembled like autumn leaves.
The sun continued to shine with the same indifferent warmth. People went about their business. Life moved forward while Rowan sat frozen, feeling winter settle into his bones despite the summer heat.
*She was making breakfast,* he thought numbly. *She was waiting for me.*
A lewd laughter interrupt his thoughts..
'Hahaha serves him right..
'That brat scared me a but now it's karma'
'It's a pity I like her mother a bit hehehe.."
'tsk!tsk!..
'ew!
'Scum!"
Said by people around who heard it
Rowan raise his head and saw the big belly man from before with another guy chattering in full view for fear the person they target won't hear it..
'Oh our baby boy was looking ahahahah'
'hey bro won't we get into trouble with this?'
Another one whispered.
"Yeah i think we better avoid his edge for now' another guy also think so.
'Hmm! He already heard it not to mention we are many and he was only one person what can he do?'
'Well your right but I gotta go'
The guy who whispered run away regretting his decision of backing up his friend.
'Damn that guy eyes is scary' he shivered in broad daylight as he thought of that horrifying blank stare like something out of a horror story.
Rowan stood up
'Get ready friends this guy is strong'
The fat guy reminder.
The group tense as conflict may start in any moment
'Hey!' said by a neighbor as he run towards the police..
However instead of coming this way roman just leave turning his back to the light his face can't be seen.
"Huh?
"I thought it was a lion it was a puppy instead hahaha"
'pew!'
.....
The next day..
It was morning when the group went missing family members report they found a treasure somewhere and are on the way to find it..
---
The funeral was a sparse affair—a few neighbors, no family. Rowan stood alone beside the grave, watching them lower the casket. The priest's words about eternal peace felt like mockery. There was no peace here, only the hollow echo of a life cut short.
*She died thinking I was coming home.*
Three weeks later, he hadn't returned to work. His savings dwindled as he spent hours researching James Morrison online—news articles, court records, anything that might reveal where the bastard had gone. The police had no leads. The case was "ongoing," they said. A euphemism for forgotten.
Sleep became elusive. Food turned to ash in his mouth. The apartment felt too quiet without her humming from the kitchen, too empty without her worried voice asking if he'd eaten.
By the fourth week, something had crystallized in the silence. A cold clarity that cut through the grief like a blade through fog.
Now he sat in his darkened apartment, the computer screen casting pale light across hollow features. His eyes, once clear and bright, were now shot through with red veins, burning with sleepless nights and something harder than sorrow.
"James... James Morrison..."
The name had become a mantra, a prayer to darker gods.
"Are you ready?" he whispered to his reflection in the black screen. The face was shroud in darkness only eyes restrained with blood stared back .
With a click darkness reclaimed the room, leaving only the echo of a murmur like a devil's whisper...
---
**Friday, a rainy night.**
In a villa surrounded by forest, a man opened the door.
*Pat! Pat!*
"What a tasty prey," James said, licking the blood from his lips as he let the rain wash the crimson from his clothes.
"Really?"
"Who?!" James jerked toward the sound, seeing the silhouette of a tall person under the trees.
"Is it that detective? I didn't expect him to have this ability," James thought as he observed the newcomer. The figure was dressed in coroner's clothing, an ordinary face standing there like a statue. In the rain the tree branch sway like a monster silhouette looking at this at night might generate a horror story.
"No, this isn't a detective." James put on a knowing smile—the detective didn't have this kind of violent eyes.
"Is this family also your prey? It's a pity I already tasted them first," James shook his head, putting his finger to his mouth. "And what's with your clothing? Coroner? Do you want to join me in embracing our true selves?"
"It's for you....so be grateful "
"And you sure talk alot for a dead man"
"Huh? Dead man?... Oh, I see." James grinned as he finally understood. "Black hair, tall stature... let me guess, the son of that drunkard I killed last week?"
Huh?
James eyes widened in disbelief as he realizes his thoughts is getting cloudy"Poison?? How?? It's raining! When?!"
When he raised his head, he saw a cold flash of light.
"Dirty tricks," James smirked, dodging with inhuman speed. Taking a step back, his legs blurred, hitting the rushing figure in the chest and splashing raindrops everywhere.
*Boom!*
James stared intently expecting a figure flying backward, Much to his shock the figure didn't back down an inch He was like a rock against the current unmoved and go forward amidst the wind.
"How?! A normal human should have gone down under that kick!" James's eyes widened as he tried to dodge a large hand emerging from the fog created by his attack, grabbing his head.
"Damn, my reactions are slowed by the poison. I should be able to dodge this!"
*Whizz!*
James's field of vision tilted, but he didn't panic. Twisting his body, he grabbed the knife behind him and in one swift motion made a half-moon arc toward his attacker's neck.
*Whoosh!*
"So what if you use all those low-level tricks!" James wore his signature smirk as he could almost taste victory—until a large hand emerged from the side, deflecting his attack and sealing his fate.
*Clang!*
"Futile struggling," Rowan said as he slammed James to the ground in a splash of mud.
"For a murderer, you sure are careless. I thought you'd attack on sight, but I guess you're too lonely and don't have anyone to talk to."
*Cough! Cough!* "If I had carried my weapon today, you really think you could be this arrogant?!" James coughed up blood, screaming like a cornered animal.
"Don't worry. Soon you can talk as much as you want in hell—if it exists." Rowan's voice carried no emotion.
James looked at his attacker's chest and saw only a bruise—a minor injury at most.
"Don't worry. As kind as I am, I'll bury you underground with the maggots. Let me see if you're as heartless as you pretend to be."
"I'm looking forward to this," Rowan said, dragging James by the head toward the forest amidst his screams.
---
Later that night, as the rain stopped.
Sirens blared as police secured the scene. News vans arrived, reporters scrambling for information about the latest development in the city's most notorious murder case.
Detective Sarah Chen stepped out of her unmarked car, her coat collar turned up against the dying rain. The villa's windows glowed with the harsh lights of the crime scene unit, casting eerie shadows across the manicured lawn now trampled by investigators.
"Detective Chen! Detective Chen!"
A young reporter with ambitious eyes and a microphone thrust toward her face approached. "I'm Lisa Park from Channel 7 News. Can you give us an update on the James Morrison case?"
Chen paused, choosing her words carefully. The media circus around this case had been relentless, and every statement would be dissected by tomorrow's headlines.
"We're still processing the scene," she said, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. "What I can confirm is that we responded to reports of a disturbance at this location approximately two hours ago."
"Sources tell us James Morrison was found here tonight. Is it true he's been killed?" Park pressed, her cameraman adjusting his position to catch every word.
Chen's jaw tightened. The leak had come fast—too fast. Someone in the department was talking.
"I cannot confirm the identity of any individuals involved at this time. The investigation is ongoing, and we're following all leads."
"But Detective, James Morrison has terrorized this city for months. Families have been living in fear. If he's really dead, don't the people have a right to know they're safe?"
"Ms. Park," Chen said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a more serious tone. "I understand the public's concern. I understand their fear. But rushing to conclusions or releasing unverified information could compromise our investigation and potentially put more lives at risk."
"Are you suggesting there might be other suspects involved?"
Chen glanced back at the villa, where technicians were still documenting the scene. The brutality of what they'd found inside was unlike anything she'd seen in fifteen years on the force. This wasn't just a killing—it was something else entirely.
"What I'm suggesting," she said finally, "is that justice requires patience. We owe it to the victims—all of them—to get this right."
"Detective, off the record," Park leaned in, lowering her voice, "my sources say the scene inside is... unusual. That whoever did this to Morrison might be just as dangerous as he was."
Chen studied the reporter's face, seeing the hunger for the story but also genuine concern.
"Off the record? Sometimes the line between justice and vengeance gets blurred. When that happens, everyone loses." She paused, watching the last of the evidence bags being loaded into police vehicles. "The people of this city deserve safety, Ms. Park. But they also deserve to live in a world where the law means something."
"So you're concerned about vigilante justice?"
"I'm concerned about what we become when we abandon our principles, even in the face of evil." Chen pulled her coat tighter as a fresh gust of wind swept across the scene. "That's all I can say right now."
As she walked away, Park called after her. "Detective! When will you release an official statement?"
Without turning back, Chen replied, "When we have something official to say."
But as she reached her car, Chen couldn't shake the feeling that this case was far from over. Somewhere in the city, a killer walked free—one who might believe he was dispensing justice, not realizing he'd become the very thing he sought to destroy.
The rain began to fall again, washing away the footprints but not the questions that would haunt her long into the night.