Strange Detective

EPISODE 1: "The Fire Doesn't Start Without A Spark"  Santina Vicente POV --- “Close the case.” The words hit harder than any punch I’ve taken in training. I don’t look away from the file in my hands. “No.” Silence stretches across the room, thick and suffocating. Then— “Detective Vicente,” his voice drops, colder this time, “that wasn’t a suggestion.” I finally lift my gaze. Alberto Mundo. Regional Director. Ranking superior. The kind of man who doesn’t repeat himself, oh well, that's because he doesn’t have to. But I’ve never been the type to make things easy. “With all due respect, sir,” I say, keeping my tone steady, “we’re not done, I am not done.” His jaw tightens. Just slightly. Most people wouldn’t notice. I do. “We are,” he replies. “You’ve been on this case for months. No solid arrests. No confirmed suspects. And now it’s attracting attention we don’t need.” “Because someone is cleaning it up before we get there,” I shoot back. “Evidence disappears. Witnesses back out. This isn’t failure Sir, this is interference.” “And that,” he says sharply, “is exactly why we’re pulling you out.” I take a step forward. “No.” The word leaves my mouth before I can soften it. Not that I would. “This case is bigger than it looks,” I continue. “Drug distribution, political connections, missing evidence, this isn’t just another file we bury because it’s inconvenient.” His eyes narrow. “You’re crossing a line, Detective.” “Then maybe the line is in the wrong place sir.” The air shifts. Heavy. Dangerous. I can feel the others in the room pretending not to listen. Alberto exhales slowly, like he’s deciding whether I’m worth the trouble. “You’re too close to it,” he says finally. I almost laugh. “Too close?” I echo. “Or too right?” His gaze hardens. “Careful." “No, sir,” I reply, quieter now but sharper. “You should be.” He is now looking at me in disbeliefs "what really are you trying to imply here Vicente?" he asked with that warning look. like I care. "that someone is intentionally misleading my investigations, and I suspect they are from our organization." That does it. I see it in the way his posture straightens. Authority. Final. “This case will be transferred to another team effective immediately,” he says. “All your access will be revoked by the end of the day.” Something inside me snaps. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just… clean. Like a thread being cut. DARN IT. “You’re making a mistake.” He doesn’t respond right away. Then . . “Dismissed, Detective Vicente.” I stand there for a second longer. Just one. Because walking away feels like losing. And I don’t lose. But even I know when I’ve hit a wall. For now. I turn and walk out. that old hag. The hallway feels colder than usual. Or maybe it’s just me. I grip the case file tighter as I move, my mind already racing. They think this is over. They think I’ll let it go. Think again idiots. They don’t know me. Because this case? This isn’t just work anymore. It’s personal. And I don’t walk away from things that don’t make sense. Especially not this one. Wanna ask about the case? It started like any other investigation. A routine tip. Anonymous. Untraceable. Useless—at first glance. But I’ve learned one thing in this job: Nothing is ever “just routine.” A shipment. Illegal substances. No official record. No clear origin. But too organized to be random. Then came the patterns. Small-time dealers suddenly disappearing. Witnesses changing statements. Evidence going missing from secured storage. That’s when I knew. Yet they want me to stop halfway?! In their long terrible dreams. This wasn’t street-level. This was something bigger. Something protected. And now— they want it buried. I enter my office and shut the door harder than necessary. The sound echoes. Good. I drop the file onto my desk and stare at it. For a long moment, I don’t move. Then I open it again. Photos. Reports. Names. Redacted sections that weren’t redacted before. I flip through the pages quickly, scanning. Something’s different. “Of course,” I mutter under my breath. “They’re already cleaning it.” I lean back slightly, exhaling. Think. If they’re shutting me out… then I’m getting too close. I can't just let them go their ways I'm gonna solve this case even if the sky falls I’m not stopping. warehouse I grab my jacket. If they want the case closed— they’re going to have to do better than paperwork. Because I’m going straight to the source. - - - Night Falls - - - The city looks different at night. Quieter. But not safer. I stand across the street from an abandoned building, half-hidden in shadow. Old warehouse. No official activity. But the kind of place that doesn’t stay empty for no reason. My informant was nervous when he mentioned it. That alone makes it worth checking. I adjust my stance slightly, scanning the area. No visible guards. No movement. Too clean. “Definitely not suspicious at all,” I whisper. I move. Crossing the street without hesitation, I approach the side entrance. Locked. Of course. I pull out a small tool from my pocket. A few seconds. A soft click. Inside. The air smells wrong. Not just dust and decay. Something else. Chemical. Sharp. I step forward carefully, senses alert. Every sound echoes too loudly. Every shadow feels alive. Something’s here. I know it. And whatever it is— it’s connected. I move deeper inside. Slow. Silent. Focused. Then— a sound. Footsteps. I freeze. Not mine. Someone else is here. Good. That means I was right. I step back into the shadows, letting my breathing steady. Waiting. Watching. The footsteps get closer. And then— a voice. Low. Unfamiliar. “…she’s already digging too deep.” My chest tightens slightly. Me. They’re talking about me. “Orders are clear,” another voice says. “End it before it gets worse.” A pause. Then— “Tonight.” Everything in me sharpens. So that’s it. This isn’t just a case anymore. I’m the target. --- The warehouse went silent... too silent. I move forward, each step deliberate, every sense alert. The smell hits first---chemical, sharp, metallic. My stomach twists. Something isn't right. I crouch behind a stack of crates and peek around the corner. Shadows flicker. Figures move. Quick. Efficient. Precise. They weren't expecting me. Or maybe they were, they wouldn't leave loose ends. "Check the back." a low voice orders. I freeze. Back. That's my escape route. I weigh my options. Quick glance. They've left one side almost unguarded. I make a move. Step by step, silent. Adrenaline sharpens my focus. Heart pounding, but steady. The closer I get, the more I realize what this is, this isn't just a stash or drop-off. It's a trap. Before I can react, a hand clamps over my mouth. I twist violently, but the grip is iron. A second hand pins my arms behind me. "Too slow!' a man hisses. hah! how dare you insult me. I stomped on his foot; No matter how thick his shoes, they are no match for the thickness and hardness of the combat boots I am wearing. He lost focus, so I immediately broke free from his grip. I elbowed him in the stomach and immediately kicked him in his sensitive area. He screamed in pain. I was about to draw my gun when I felt a sharp object against my back again. Slowly moving through my neck. "Drop your gun, before I cut your throat open." the man behind said firmly and coldly. Damn it. Panic flares not in my mind, but in my body. Every muscle screams to fight. I try to scream, can't. Then the world tilts. I hit the ground. The crates shift. Sparks fly. I hear another voice. "Burn her. Make sure she doesn't leave a trace." "Also, make it accidental." he added. "Copy Sir." --- The heat hits next. Walls flare. Flames lick the stacks. Smoke fills the whole area. I claw at the floor, at the hands pinning me. Nothing works. Breath sears my lungs. My eyes slowly closing ... A flash of white through the smoke. Standing. Watching. Frozen. With eyes wide open. Horror etched across her face. Sabrina.. I want to reach her. I can feel a single teardrop slowly falling from the corner of my eye. "Take care si---s..." And everything went black. This story is an original work of fiction created by the author. All elements are fictional and not copied from any source. Plagiarism is strictly prohibited. Any resemblance to real people, places, or events is purely coincidental.