FLEMING

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"There are no heroes. In life, monsters win."

We were on high alert, eagerly awaiting the signal from the operations chief to access the property. The place was engulfed in tense silence, only interrupted by the soft murmurs of the agents as they prepared for the intervention. The emergency vehicles' lights blinked in the dark alley, casting intermittent flashes on the worn walls, adding an ominous air to the environment.

An hour ago, we had received the disturbing report of a supposed murder in that residence. The news had triggered our alarms and compelled us to act swiftly. And now, here we were, fifteen members of the S.W.A.T. team, clad in our black gear, each tightly gripping our rifles, ready to face any situation. The tension in the air was palpable as we nervously awaited the command from the commander.

A couple of minutes later, the voice of our superior resonated in our earpieces, giving the long-awaited order. The agents positioned in front of the residence's door charged towards it with determination, crashing it down with a deafening noise. The metallic sound of impact echoed in my ears, blending with the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

We advanced cautiously, step by step, unsure of what awaited us on the other side of those shattered doors. The shadows and dark corners seemed to harbor mysteries and hidden dangers. The flashlight in my hand swept across every nook, illuminating worn-out furniture and crooked paintings hanging on the walls. The smell of dampness and abandonment permeated the air, intensifying the oppressive atmosphere that had settled in that place.

My path led me to the kitchen, where I hoped to find some clue that could shed light on the events. I meticulously inspected every surface, every corner, but everything seemed in order. There were no signs of a recent altercation or a violent struggle. However, that feeling that something was amiss persisted in the atmosphere, enveloping me like a dense and unsettling fog.

I continued my journey to the living room, where my eyes were met with a horrifying scene. There, in the middle of the spacious room, sat a young woman with a fragile appearance, disheveled hair, and wide, bulging eyes. In front of her, two bodies lay in a pool of blood, their lives cruelly taken away. The girl, unfazed, held a blood-stained knife with a cynical smile on her face. A shiver ran down my spine as I absorbed the macabre sight.

Time seemed to stand still as I approached the young woman slowly, aware of the penetrating gaze of her eyes. Through her gaze, I could sense a strange combination of peace and fatigue. Those blue eyes, worn out from lack of sleep and surrounded by dark circles, reflected an internal torment I could not comprehend. I wondered what had led this young woman to commit such an act of violence, what demons haunted her, and what secrets lay deep within her fragmented mind.

The air grew thick, almost suffocating, as I approached stealthily. Each step I took seemed to defy gravity's laws, fearing to disturb the delicate balance of the scene. My voice came out in a whisper, communicating the shocking reality before me through the radio. However, the young woman remained oblivious to everything around her, lost in her own world of shadows and unfathomable secrets.

Finally, I positioned myself by her side, crouching down to take the blood-stained knife resting in her hand. It was at that precise moment that she seemed to snap out of her trance and notice my presence, as well as the inquisitive and threatening gaze of the other agents aimed directly at her head. Our eyes met, and in that brief moment of connection, I could see a mixture of weariness and defiance on her face.

She stared at me intensely, not uttering a single word. She appeared tired, exhausted from carrying an immense emotional burden. The girl carried an aura of fragility and darkness within her, as if her spirit teetered on the edge of an abyss. I wondered what events had shaped her existence and what internal demons had led her to that irreversible point.

With caution, I approached even closer, careful not to trigger any violent reaction. But as my thoughts oscillated between compassion and uncertainty, the young woman began showing increasingly evident signs of exhaustion, to the point where I was compelled to carry her in my arms. In the midst of her weakness, she muttered words that hung in the air: 'I am finally free.' And then, her body succumbed to unconsciousness, leaving us with more questions than answers and a lingering sense of unease and bewilderment within me.

That scene, that encounter with a disturbed mind and its deadly consequences, had marked me in a way I couldn't put into words. Only time and investigation could unveil the hidden secrets behind that act of violence, as well as the invisible scars that marked the tormented life of that young woman.