Murphy's eyes gleamed.

A single Game Coin from the organization could be exchanged for over ten thousand US dollars in cash—laundered cash, at that.

Five coins meant an income of at least fifty thousand US dollars!

My luck is amazing today!

She hung up the phone. Whistling, Murphy prepared to head back to the café.

She had actually come today on official business; it was just a coincidence that she ran into Dean and thought of making some quick cash.

Murphy was still basking in the glow of her earnings. She hummed a cheerful tune as she pulled open the back door.

The next moment, the joy on Murphy's face froze.

In the alleyway behind the door, where she thought Dean had left, there he was, holding a crude radio and grinning at her. "Surprise!"

Surprise? This is what you fucking call a surprise?!

Just a moment ago, I was thinking about buying a few more handbags this month. The next, it was as if I'd plummeted into Hell, seeing Satan waving at me!

"Fuck!"

Murphy didn't hesitate. Her right knee shot out—quick, accurate, and fierce—aiming for Dean's groin.

Dean dodged the lethal attack in a flash. As he evaded it, he grabbed Murphy by the hair and yanked her head back, exposing her pale neck.

A bone-chilling terror surged through Murphy's heart. She seemed to realize what was about to happen and tried to plead for mercy.

SHLICK!

A crimson mist erupted from Murphy's throat, finally blooming into a morbid shower that symbolized her life ebbing away...

After a dozen seconds or so, Murphy's beautiful eyes, moments before wide with fright yet still bright, now stared blankly, devoid of spirit.

Dropping the corpse, Dean flicked his right hand, and the blade between his fingers vanished, neatly retracted.

Towards anyone with malicious intent—man, woman, or child—he had only one principle: physical annihilation!

The poker-faced waiter, who had been at the front desk, appeared behind Dean. "Agent Dean, you've made such a bloody mess. It's going to take a lot of effort to clean up."

"Alright." Dean took out a wad of bills and placed them on Murphy's still-warm body. "This is for the cleanup. I still have to deal with a friend's case, so I'll trouble you to take care of this woman's body."

The poker-faced waiter licked his lips. "Don't worry. She was just a minor recruit trying to sell your information. Caught red-handed, so she's dead. Just dead. I'll dispose of her cleanly!"

Dean nodded. He walked over to where Murphy had made her phone call, retrieved a pigeon-egg-sized listening device, and quickly left the deserted alley.

Murphy had thought he was gone. In reality, Dean had gone straight to the front desk and summoned the person in charge—the poker-faced waiter—to listen to Murphy's phone call with him.

After all, killing someone on their turf without giving a heads-up would be rather impolite.

As for leaving her alive, there was no point. For intelligence agencies like the NSA and FBI, whatever needed to be known about the Lucifer Game Organization was already known. As for things they couldn't know, those weren't accessible to a minor character like Murphy anyway.

Killing her settled it.

I just didn't expect the 'Lucifer Gaming Organization' would still end up targeting me. I just don't know what they're planning!

Dean had intended to call Anthony, but, unusually, the call wouldn't connect. He decided he would email Anthony that evening to explain the situation, hoping for some guidance.

「By the roadside.」

Harry, somewhat bored, lit his third cigarette. Dean had come out, complained of a stomach ache, and gone to the restroom. He'd been gone for nearly ten minutes now.

Harry had good reason to suspect Dean was constipated.

Just as his mind began to wander, the missing Dean reappeared before him. "Let's go, Harry."

Harry nodded, ready to start the car, when he suddenly sniffed and looked at Dean in surprise. "Buddy, don't tell me you couldn't take a dump and strained so hard you caused some major bleeding down there?"

He smelled a faint scent of blood on Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Say one more word, and I'll make *you* hemorrhage!"

Harry flinched, quickly opened the car door, and drove back to the precinct.

In the car, Dean took out the note he had obtained from the coffee shop. The information on it was rather brief:

Toy Serial Killer:

"Sein, male, 44 years old, from Alabama State.

He was a surgeon who had served time in prison for severe medical malpractice.

He had a perverted obsession with human tissue and liked to knock people unconscious before using 'toys' to replace parts of their bodies.

'Take one thing, leave one thing!'

Sein was obsessed with this game.

At that stage, the victims were only maimed; none had died.

His 'playfulness' escalated. He started 'fixing' victims to steel pipes and then directly transforming parts of their bodies into toys.

Until one mistake. Sein left his own blood at a crime scene.

Eventually, the police identified him from the blood evidence. In his basement, they found the missing body parts of numerous victims.

Although there wasn't a complete chain of evidence to confirm Sein was the Toy Serial Killer, special circumstances called for special measures.

Eventually, Sein was convicted on charges of serial torture and murder. He was imprisoned in March 1998 and has remained there ever since.

After his imprisonment, the 'toy murder substitution' cases in Alabama ceased."

Seeing the last few lines, Dean thought he had misread them.

Henry's manner of death was undoubtedly consistent with Sein's M.O. His eyes had been taken and made into toys, parts of his body were pierced causing massive blood loss, and the surgical technique was sophisticated... All of this matched the information in the report.

The only problem was Sein was still incarcerated in an Alabama prison. He had no opportunity to commit the crime!

Could it be a copycat crime?

Dean stroked his chin and looked at Harry, who was driving. "Buddy, I asked some contacts, and they said Henry's death strongly resembles the M.O. of a psycho called the 'Toy Serial Killer.' Ever heard of him?"

"Toy Serial Killer?" Harry hesitated and shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell. Otherwise, with a death as 'unique' as Henry's, I'd definitely remember it."

"Alright. Then we can only hope Daisy can dig up some information on this guy."

Dean closed his eyes and said no more.

「The next day.」

Dean arrived at the office early. Harry was already there. The poor guy's eyes were bloodshot, and he reeked of stale cigarette smoke. He looked like a lovelorn simp, or perhaps a man who'd just discovered he'd been duped into raising another man's child for over a decade; the light had vanished from his eyes.

Dean covered his nose. "You didn't smoke all night, did you?"

"Pretty much." Harry stared at the ceiling, his voice listless. "I told Sarah yesterday about her brother's... misfortune. Sarah was devastated. I was trying to comfort her, but after she tearfully thanked me, she called another woman over. My daughter even calls that woman 'Baba'…"

Harry's face was filled with grief and indignation. "That damned bitch! She just used me as a tool to have a baby and never even considered letting me see my child in the future. And after she found out her brother died, she flat-out told me I can't see my kid anymore, or she'll make me lose my job!"

Dean said sympathetically, "Okay, buddy. Sounds like you got involved in lesbian surrogacy. She didn't even bother to pay for sperm from the black market and chose to freeload off you instead. That's pretty messed up."

Harry felt even worse after this 'comfort.' He tilted his head back, fighting.

A king shouldn't cry over a woman! I can't cry!

Daisy and the others hadn't arrived yet. Dean yawned. He was about to pour himself some coffee and try to console Harry further.

CREAK.

The office door was pushed open. Holz rushed in, looking flustered, and only relaxed when he saw someone was already there.

Seeing this, Dean asked doubtfully, "Buddy, what's so urgent it couldn't be said over the phone?"

"Because it wasn't convenient to call!" Holz said rapidly. "Early this morning, people from Alabama showed up with an authorization slip from the Chief of the Detective Bureau, preparing to take Henry's body!"

"What!" Dean's gaze sharpened. "Why? How did Alabama get involved with us? And Henry only died yesterday—how did they find out so quickly?"

"Because I..." Holz looked completely helpless. "I analyzed the blood under Henry's fingernails. The results showed genetic material belonging to an inmate currently serving time in Alabama. Out of curiosity, I called them. And first thing this morning, they showed up. They claimed that the findings on Henry's body could lead to overturning that inmate's conviction, so they have to take the body as evidence."

Damn it! They're stealing my case?

Dean grabbed his coat, his expression grim, and headed for the forensics lab.

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