Pangea Academy's Number Two! (BOOK 2)

Instinctual Retreat!

As ICJ cautiously peeked into the laboratory, a wave of stale air mixed with the faint scent of chemicals greeted him. The room was dimly lit by flickering overhead fluorescents, casting long, ominous shadows across the cluttered space. Papers were strewn about, equipment lay abandoned, and the only sound was the distant hum of machinery.

At first glance, it appeared like any other laboratory, but something was horribly amiss. A metallic tang tainted the air, and a sense of foreboding hung heavy. The investigator's gaze fell upon the central workbench, where a figure lay in a grotesque sprawl. ICJ would barely be able to make out the doctors face if it weren't for his large rounded glasses perched, broken, next to him. UNESCO's face was swollen until purple and half of it was soaked in fresh dark blood. The sides of his neck were completely cut open, revealing the innards that were not supposed to be seen by the world.

His body contorted in a macabre display of violence, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, betraying the brutality of his demise.

The scene was a tableau of horror; the walls splattered with crimson, test tubes shattered, their contents spilled like gory confetti. The scientist's face, frozen in a mask of agony, bore the marks of unspeakable torment. Deep lacerations crisscrossed his skin, evidence of a frenzied attack that knew no mercy.

Every inch of the laboratory seemed tainted by the violence that had unfolded there. Equipment lay overturned, glassware shattered, and the air thick with the stench of death. It was as if the very essence of the space had been violated, desecrated by the savagery of the act.

As the investigator surveyed the scene, a chilling realization washed over them. This was not merely a murder; it was a statement—a chilling message to the darkness that lurked in the shadows.

There was one thing he couldn't help but notice.

"The chemicals don't smell that strong and other than that, it smells like a normal crime scene." ICJ looked up to the American still standing in the door frame.

"God! Sue me for not being able to handle chemicals and blood mixed together."

"Well, we were too late." ICJ sighed, "The ability user must've realized we were on their trail and got rid of the only piece of evidence left."

America weakly pointed his trembling hand at a desk in the corner, illuminated by a lone lamp. "Looks like his project."

The desk stood as a silent witness to the horror that had unfolded in the laboratory. At first glance, it appeared like any other work surface, cluttered with papers, notebooks, and half-finished experiments. But upon closer inspection, the true extent of the tragedy became evident.

Blood, dark and ominous, stained the surface of the desk in jagged splatters, stark against the pale wood. It spoke of a struggle—a desperate fight for survival that had played out in the shadows of the laboratory. The crimson droplets seemed to mock the sterile neutrality of the workspace, a visceral reminder of the violence that had shattered the tranquility of the room.

Next to the desk, a lamp cast a feeble glow, its light flickering erratically as if struggling to pierce the gloom that hung heavy in the air. Despite the chaos that surrounded it, the lamp stood steadfast, a silent sentinel illuminating the scene of carnage.

But perhaps the most poignant sight was the shattered remnants of the scientist's project, scattered across the desk like shards of broken dreams. 

Despite the devastation, traces of the project remained—a viscous liquid pooling amidst the wreckage. It seemed to shimmer in the dim light, it must have been UNESCO's current project that was blacked out of the document.