Bloody Bullet (rewrite)

1

DO NOT ROMANTICIZE ANYTHING FROM THIS BOOK. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND SHOULD NEVER BE REPLICATED IN THE REAL WORLD.

THIS IS NOT A POTRAYAL OF LOVE NOR THIS IS THE NORM OF 'LOVE'. THIS IS ABUSE AND SHOULD NEVER BE NORMALIZED IN THE REAL WORLD.

I DO NOT CONDONE 'YANDERE' BEHAVIORS AND NEITHER SHOULD YOU. THIS IS PURELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT AND IT IS NOT TO BE EMULATED IN REAL LIFE.

"You've reached (L/n)'s private eye, (y/n) speaking. How can I help you? " You brought your phone to your ear. You rubbed your eyes and yawned, it's now midday.

"...it's me." The voice sounded oddly familiar but you couldn't tell exactly who is it.

"What's your name?" You asked, readying your pen and notepad.

"It's Cygne, I need to talk—" you slammed the phone back into the receiver. Shaking your head, you clicked your pen to retract it's tip before keeping it in your breast pocket.

"Find some other poor sap to do your job." You muttered as you got up from your office chair.

You quit the police force two years ago. You were a homicide detective, a top notch officer who always gets the job done. You were an extreme workaholic who does not have the word 'relax' in their vocabulary.

You have earned so many recognition badges and medals during the last decade. Your work was your pride, your will to eat, sleep, drink and your will to live.

You sacrificed many friendships just so you could do well in your career, everyone called you a 'mean machine'. You devoted your life to your career.

You loved the thrill, you loved the praise and you loved the feeling of justice served.

Then, what made you leave? Actually, many things. The stress, the toll on your health, the pressure from the victim's families were too much for you to handle.

You never truly gotten used to seeing dismembered bodies, lifeless corpse in different locations. You were never desensitized to the reactions of their mothers sobbing and wailing for justice to come. It keeps you awake at night, knowing that there are counless sickos out there willing to destroy families and disrupt harmony.

The guilt stays, the guilt of knowing there is nothing that you can do to bring the dead back never left.

That wasn't the tipping point. Your competitor was the one who ultimately made you snap.

You were enraged when all your hard work, all that research, the countless times where you were almost killed or threatened to be killed, the sleepless nights gathering as much information as you can on the massive crime syndicate, Windmill, did not earn you another medal.

Instead, it earned your competitor a medal because he took credit for it.

That was it, that was the final straw. You handed in your police badge and gun later that afternoon, throwing a violent tantrum in the head of department's office.

They somewhat begged you to stay because you were one of the best and the most dedicated detective there. You told them to eat grass before storming off.

Now, you had enough money to support yourself for the rest of your life (given that you minimize your expenses and decide not to start a family) but you opened up your own private investigating firm anyways. Why? Why go through so much trouble to work again?

Well, you had too much time in your hands. You have almost no friends and no family. Why not invest your time managing a business? You get to earn money, you get to make more friends and you get to kill time.

You aren't like the detective (y/n) two years ago, that burning passion is long gone. You're now lazy, doing the bare minimum to get by. Your life doesn't revolve around your work anymore, it revolves around eating, sleeping and defaeceating.

You didn't even bother to find love, too much responsibility.

You did not want a pet, you did not want to commit to it. Plus, you'd probably be too lazy to take care of it properly.

What about vacation? Yeah, occationally you would fly off to somewhere and do some (shopping/sightseeing/sunbathing/sleeping/whatever you like to do during vacation). You don't go out that much because you are... lazy.

You stretched your arms and yawned again. It's time to carry out what your client asked you to do, stalk her husband and take a picture of his infidelity. She needed it as proof to get full custody of her son.

These are the things you do for money now, most of your clients are heartbroken lovers either wanting to seek revenge on their unfaithful half or find some closure.

Some were orphans trying to reconnect with their biological parents, some were desperate owners searching for their missing pets, some were nosy relatives curious about other people's lives— basically, you faced a wide range.

You opened the front door. Huh?What's that on your office's (and apartment room) doorstep? You crouched down to get a better view.

It's a hamper filled with various goodies. From chocolates, to stuffed animals, to money, to flowers...

You sighed. You knew exactly who set this here.

"I'll deal with you later." You mumbled to it and left it there.