The forest was lit by flashlights and portable floodlights, casting long, distorted shadows between the trees. The night air carried the scent of damp earth and crushed leaves. Police officers had cordoned off an area deep in the woods, forming an improvised perimeter between trunks and bushes.

  Outside the line, a group of people gathered in uneasy silence. They wore light-colored, simple robes that stood out against the surrounding darkness. Some whispered among themselves; others merely stared, trying to glimpse what had happened beyond the police tape. One by one, they were escorted away from the scene.

  It was from within that group that Randy emerged.

  Without saying a word, he crossed the perimeter, flashing his badge before anyone could stop him.

  — Captain Crawford, — a police officer said, recognizing him immediately.

  Randy nodded with a brief gesture.

  — What do we have here?

  The officer took a deep breath before answering and began walking beside him toward the heart of the forest.

  — It’s bad, sir. — He hesitated. — Looks like some kind of ritual.

  They moved into a clearing. When Randy finally took in the entire scene, he stopped for a moment.

  — Holy shit…

  At the center of the clearing lay a large, smooth stone—wide and flat, like an ancient table carved by nature itself. Resting atop it was the naked body of a young woman, arranged in a cruciform position. Arms spread wide, legs extended. On her wrist, a beige leather bracelet contrasted sharply with the pallor of her skin.

  Around the stone, a circle had been drawn on the ground. It wasn’t made of paint or traditional religious symbols, but of numbers: zeros and ones, repeated in sequence, engraved or marked with obsessive precision.

  01110100 01100101 01100011 01101000 01101101 01101111 01110010 01100001

  A chill ran down Randy’s spine.

  Surrounding the numerical circle, two overlapping squares formed an eight-pointed star. At each of its tips, an energy rod was embedded in the ground, still emitting a faint, unstable glow.

  Randy stepped closer to the body.

  The girl’s chest had been opened. Where her heart should have been, there was a piece of hardware—cold, metallic, fitted with surgical precision. Thin cables vanished beneath the flesh like artificial roots.

  — Have you identified her? — he asked, his voice lower than he intended.

  As he spoke, he noticed the deep cut across the woman’s throat, nearly hidden by the shadows.

  — Monica Ortiz, — the officer replied. — Member of the community.

  Randy kept his eyes on the body for a few seconds longer, absorbing every detail, every deliberate choice behind the staging of the scene.

  Stolen story; please report.

  — What happened here?

  The silence of the forest seemed to close in around the question.

  The street was crowded. People hurried past, horns blared in the distance, voices overlapped in a constant noise that felt like part of the scenery itself. Morgan walked up to a small coffee stand set up on the sidewalk, where customers clustered around, standing with plastic cups in hand.

  — Morning, — he said, leaning against the counter.

  — Morning, Morgan. What’ll it be? — the attendant replied, barely looking up.

  — Black coffee.

  The attendant cracked a half-smile.

  — Good thing. That’s all I’ve got.

  He poured the coffee into a plain cup and slid it across the counter. Morgan took a sip, feeling the hot bitterness run down his throat.

  — Morgan, my old friend, how are you?

  He turned his head slightly.

  — Randy.

  Randy stepped closer and sat beside him, resting his elbow on the counter. He made a quick gesture toward the attendant.

  — Cappuccino.

  — Sorry, Randy, — the attendant said. — Just coffee today. The fridge burned out.

  Randy sighed, resigned.

  — That’s a shame. I heard there was a blackout around here last night.

  The attendant poured him a cup of coffee. Randy took it, sipped briefly, then lightly tapped Morgan on the shoulder.

  — I’ve got a new case for you.

  Morgan didn’t react right away. He simply took another sip of his coffee.

  — I already have a case.

  Randy shook his head.

  — I already told you to forget that GENTECH bullshit. — He leaned in a little closer. — You have a new case. Monica Ortiz.

  Why the hell was Randy putting him on a new case? He was his friend—one of his best. Why was he doing this?

  The name Monica Ortiz lingered in the air for a moment. As if Randy were bracing himself for what he was about to say—and as if Morgan needed time to brace himself to hear it.

  — The girl’s body was found on Elysium property, — Randy said, his voice echoing in Morgan’s thoughts.

  Morgan frowned.

  — On Elysium?

  As Randy spoke, Morgan’s mind drifted away from the noise of the street.

  He pictured the place. Rumors about Elysium had been circulating through the city for some time now.

  A lush green field stretching as far as the eye could see. At its center, a gigantic stone stood upright like an ancient obelisk. Its surface was entirely covered in carved runes—symbols that seemed to vibrate with some kind of silent energy.

  Around the stone, wooden cabins formed an almost perfect circle.

  People dressed in light-colored robes emerged from their cabins smiling, walking across the field as if nothing were out of place.

  Facing the stone, they sat on the ground with their legs crossed. Some closed their eyes. Others murmured inaudible words. All of them seemed at peace.

  It would be perfect, if they weren’t insane.

  — Yes. The girl was murdered in some kind of ritual, — Randy said, cutting through Morgan’s fantasy.

  — A ritual? — Morgan thought. — Don’t tell me those lunatics are sacrificing girls now…

  — Trouble in paradise, my old friend… — Randy continued after a pause. — …but I don’t think they did it.

  Morgan stared into his coffee cup. The chaos of the city made the very idea of Elysium’s existence feel unreal. Years of experience had taught him that, under the right conditions, anyone was capable of murder. Randy knew that too.

  — Why not?

  Randy took another sip of coffee, as if buying himself time.

  — The ritual felt very… technological.

  Morgan stared at him for a few seconds.

  — What kind of shit are you dragging me into?

  Randy held his gaze.

  — I need you there as soon as possible.