Detective || Scream1996 x M!reader

Ending: A

You decided to go to the police station first, urgency driving your every step. You couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out

When you burst through the doors of the station, you approached the front desk, heart racing. "I have evidence-important evidence about the Ghostface killings. I think I know who the killer is. It's William Billy Loomis and Stuart Macher"

The officer behind the desk looked up, his brow furrowing at your declaration. "Calm down, kid. We get a lot of calls like this. You need to present your evidence properly."

You took a deep breath, struggling to contain your frustration. "I have proof. I've pieced together their alibis and their behavior. They're not who they say they are! You have to listen to me!"

After some back and forth, you managed to sit down with an officer who looked at your notes with a mix of skepticism and patience.

You laid out everything-the connections, the flashbacks, the moments that seemed harmless but took on a sinister tone in hindsight.

"I know them personally," you insisted, leaning in. "They've acted suspiciously from the start."

The officer glanced at the papers you handed over, barely skimming through them before looking back at you with a dismissive expression. "We'll send a couple of officers to check it out," he said, clearly unconvinced.

You felt a wave of frustration wash over you. "That's it? I'm telling you they're the killers! Are you fucking serious? The evidence is literally right here!" you shot back, frustration bubbling to the surface. You couldn't believe how dismissive they were being about something so serious

"We'll investigate, but you need to remain calm," he replied. "Just stay out of their way."

You felt a surge of anger at their indifference. "I need you to understand that this isn't just a joke! Lives are at stake!"

Despite your protests, they insisted on protocol. You felt your resolve solidifying as you realized you would have to take matters into your own hands.

They instructed you to get into the police car, and you climbed in, tension radiating through you as you settled into the seat.

As the car started moving, the reality of the situation hit you hard. You were heading into danger, and you were already late. You glanced at the officers, hoping they would take your warnings seriously

As the police car pulled up to Stu's house, your stomach churned with a sense of dread. The once lively atmosphere of the party had been replaced by an eerie silence that pressed down on you like a weight.

You gripped the seat, staring out the window, unable to make yourself move as the officers climbed out, weapons drawn, moving quickly toward the house.

But you couldn't move. You just sat there, frozen, as the scene before you slowly came into focus.

Blood. It was everywhere.

Your breath caught in your throat, the lump of fear rising as you took in the horrifying sight on the front porch. Randy's body lay crumpled there, blood pooling around him, his eyes lifeless.

The sarcastic smile you'd always seen on his face-gone forever. Your heart clenched as tears blurred your vision, but you couldn't look away.

You blinked, hoping-praying-it was a nightmare. But it wasn't. Tatum's body was next, lodged in the garage door's cat flap, her head flattened, neck twisted at an impossible angle.

Your best friend-someone who always lit up any room-was now another victim of this twisted fucking nightmare.

You felt numb. Tears streamed silently down your face, your mind unable to fully comprehend the weight of what you were seeing.

The officers outside were shouting into their radios, urgently calling for backup, but their voices seemed distant, muted. All you could hear was the pounding of your own heart in your ears.

Too late.

You had pieced it all together-Billy, Stu, the killings, the game they were playing-and yet... you were too late to stop it. You had failed to save your friends, to protect them when they needed you most. The horror of that truth gnawed at your insides, leaving you hollow.

You had tried so hard to crack the case, to outsmart the killer. But what good was all that effort now? Randy was dead. Tatum was dead. All your work, all your theories, meant nothing in the face of the cold, brutal reality before you.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms, but the pain couldn't pull you from the haze of grief.

The officers were still moving, rushing to secure the area, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing you did now would bring them back.

The weight of failure pressed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. You had failed them.

You sat there, paralyzed by the overwhelming guilt and sorrow, your tears falling onto your lap as the world around you seemed to crumble.

You couldn't save them. You were too late

You're a shit detective.