Chapter Text
In this small city—where autumn cloaks everything in its evening breeze—a great evil lurked. A sadistic killer terrorized the streets; his crimes were inhuman—so utterly immoral that it seemed his sole objective was to transform this beautiful city into a living hell, allowing evil to consume it entirely. No matter how tirelessly they searched and investigated, the killer remained elusive; he was cunning, leaving behind no traces, no clues, and no footprints—only a crimson trail in his wake.
Detective Rodger Lewis was in charge of the case. He searched relentlessly for any clue that might offer a glimpse into the identity of this sadistic murderer; yet, there was nothing—absolutely nothing—that could provide a definitive answer. He took a sip from his coffee cup, the contents now lukewarm; his single eye looked weary, heavy dark circles visible beneath it. He was pushing himself to the absolute limit; he could not rest easy knowing that a psychopath was on the loose—a monster devouring human lives. His only source of solace was his beloved family: his sweet wife, Teagean, who offered him constant encouragement, and his little Toodles—the light of his life—who dreamed of following in his footsteps to become a great detective herself. For their sake, he had to work until he dropped; he had to create a world where they could be safe.
He rigorously reviewed the case files once again, searching for anything that might have escaped his keen eye—a single detail that could offer a clue, or perhaps a fresh perspective.
—Hey, how long has it been since you slept? You look terrible. —
Rodger looked up slightly. —This is important, rookie; I can’t just leave it unfinished. —
—This "rookie" has a name, genius. —
Rodger sighed. —Sorry, Vee. I’m on edge about this; I’ve been trying to track this guy down for weeks, but there’s nothing. —
Vee Vewan was a rookie aspiring to become a detective. She was under Rodger’s tutelage, and thanks to her exceptional performance, she had managed to earn a strong reputation among her colleagues—even gaining recognition from her superiors.
—And if you aren't rested, you’re even less likely to spot any details. I get that this case is driving you crazy, but you won't accomplish anything by beating yourself up over it. — Vee crossed her arms.
She walked over to her superior, glancing over the case files. There was a total of 25 victims—all men between the ages of thirty and fifty. They varied in age, appearance, and lifestyle; there didn't seem to be anything that directly linked them together.
—What am I missing? — Rodger calmly went over each file one more time.
—Your killer must be someone young—someone with forensic expertise that allows them to effectively cover their tracks. — Vee picked up a file and began to analyze it.
—That’s obvious, Vee, but that opens up a lot of possibilities: a forensic specialist, a doctor, a surgeon... —
Vee continued to observe intently. —Your killer is also small. —
—What? — Rodger turned toward Vee.
—Look at the marks on the victims. First, they are attacked from behind with a taser, knocking them unconscious instantly. They always strike toward the back of the neck; however, you can see the trajectory is from below. Most of these men were tall, between five-foot-seven and five-foot-eleven. I'm five-nine, so I'm the same height as the victims. —
Rodger stood up beside her, examining the marks. Vee grabbed a marker from the desk, handing it to the magnifying glass. —Imagine you’re attacking me with a taser. —
Rodger uncapped the marker. Standing behind Vee, he made the motion to strike, leaving a dot on the robot's neck. He looked at it closely, then glanced back at the document. She was right; the marks were different.
—You’re five-foot-seven. Now try it as if you were shorter than that.— Rodger crouched slightly, repeating the same movement. This time, the mark looked much closer to the ones in the files.
—The unsub must be under five-foot-seven. Maybe five-foot-three or so, but there’s no doubt he’s a smaller man than average. — It was a breakthrough. Not a huge one, but it was something.
—Hasn't the forensics report arrived yet? I’m sixty percent sure he must have drugged the victims with something. To overpower men taller than him, he either has to be in incredibly good shape, or he was keeping them drugged.—
—The toxicology screen came back clean in the latest reports. If he's using a drug, it’s probably one that isn't standard protocol. I’ll ask Brightney to look for unusual substances.—
The detective stretched his back wearily; he needed another cup of coffee right now, and a strong one at that. —Alright, come with me. I was planning to talk to an informant to see if she has anything useful for us.—
Rodger grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and stepped out of the dimly lit office, accompanied by his young partner. They left the precinct to take a stroll, walking a few blocks while Vee continued scanning the files in her database, searching for matches to similar murders in other states. Rodger came to an abrupt halt in front of a flower shop: "Dandelion’s Garden."
—Wait. I want to pay a visit to an old friend. —
Vee stopped; upon glancing at the place, she grimaced. —Ugh. That guy again? —
They stepped inside and were greeted by a young woman. Upon spotting the customers, she fumbled with the basket she was carrying, dropping several packets of seeds. —Oh! I’m sorry!— Flustered, she scrambled to gather everything in a hurry, just as a taller man approached to help her.
—Bassie, be more careful, sweetie. You know how Dandicus gets when you break something. —
—I'm so sorry, Dyle! —
Vee stepped forward to help with the basket and the clock. —Hey, easy there—we don't bite, you know? —
Bassie shook her head, blushing crimson. —I'm sorry; I got a little nervous. —
They finished gathering the seeds, and the basket offered her thanks before hurrying off to store the packages in the storeroom.
—Mr. Lewis, how may I assist you? —
Dyle Timesly, the flower shop's manager, was an elegant and stoic man—quite courteous, and possessed of great eloquence whenever he spoke.
—Hello, Dyle. Is Dandy in his office right now? —
—Indeed. He shouldn't have any patients at the moment, so you may go right in without any trouble. I shall return to my duties. —
Both detectives bade farewell to the clock and ascended the back stairs toward the upper level of the shop, where the clinical office of the flower shop's owner was located. Rodger knocked on the door, opening it the moment he heard the man bid them enter.
—Oh, my old friend! What a joy to see you! — The flower greeted him with a smile.
—Dandy, how have you been? It’s been a while since I last saw you. — Rodger stepped forward and shook Dandy's hand; the atmosphere felt light and easy.
—Dandicus. — Vee replied dryly.
—Oh. Vee. It is not a great pleasure to see you! — he said with a biting tone, earning a scoff from the television set.
An argument ensued. Rodger sighed in exhaustion; it was always the same whenever those two crossed paths. Dandy would test Vee's patience, making mocking remarks simply because he knew it would annoy the young detective—and, in some twisted way, that seemed to give Dandy a perverse pleasure. For her part, Vee took no enjoyment in such games; truth be told, the less she had to see of the flower, the better. TV couldn't take it anymore and walked out of the office.
—I'll be waiting for you downstairs, Rodger. — The latter nodded wearily.
—Oh? Leaving so soon? What a shame~ —
As soon as TV was gone, Rodger got straight to the point.
—Dandy, I need to ask you something. —
The man in question smiled calmly. —Of course, old friend! How can this kindly psychiatrist be of assistance? —
—Ugh! How I loathe that guy!—Vee stormed out of the office in a fury. Dyle smiled subtly at her, offering her a cup of tea.
—I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Vewan. My dear friend... can be quite intense at times. —
—Intense? He’s absolutely unbearable! — Vee accepted the tea; she needed something to help her relax. Dyle offered her his seat, then positioned himself behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders to give her a light massage.
—You are very tense, Miss Vewan. You really ought to get a little more rest—and, above all, correct that hunched posture of yours.—
—Ugh, I know, but Rodger is driving me crazy with this case! I know how important it is, but he’s piled so much overtime on me that I went through three packs of batteries in a single week!—
—Oh, a difficult case indeed. How is it coming along? — Dyle smiled, but Vee’s expression turned serious.
—You know I can’t give you details about the case, Dyle. Let’s just say it’s complicated. —
The clockwork man nodded. He knew full well that Vee was far more astute than she appeared; she wasn’t someone easily beguiled. Consequently, he would have to be content with those few words—though he secretly hoped that no further murders would occur anytime soon. And, above all, that they wouldn’t uncover any new leads that might bring them closer to finding the culprit.
—And just call me Vee—you don’t have to be so formal with me. We’re friends, aren’t we?— Dyle let out a soft chuckle.
—My apologies; it’s just habit. Of course we’re friends, Vee.—
Vee smiled back at him.
—Well now... shouldn’t you be working, Dyle?—
Dandy was standing beside Rodger, wearing a broad smile—yet the clockwork man knew that this was no sympathetic smile; it was a lethal threat. He nodded, stepping away from the detective and returning to the front counter.
—Well, Vee, it’s time for us to get going. We’ve got work to do. —
The woman nodded, adjusting her vest as she bade Dyle farewell with a smile—deliberately ignoring Dandy. She then exited the shop alongside Rodger. No sooner had they left than Dandy turned toward Dyle, wearing an empty smile and fixing his sharp gaze upon the poor man, who grimaced and crossed his arms.
—Dandicus, stop looking at me like that. I was merely checking how close they were to catching the killer. — His gaze sharpened, and he bared his fangs in a sneer of pure disgust. —Or rather. How close they are to catching you. You said you wouldn't kill anyone again, yet look at you now. Three victims in a single week? Are you serious, Dandicus? —
Dandy rolled his eyes, pressing his back against the counter and adjusting his colorful petals—he really ought to repaint them soon, before his true colors could be glimpsed beneath.
—You know I can't help it, Dyle. It’s my nature; no matter how hard I try to fight it, my instincts always end up taking over.—
Dandicus Dancifer. A man renowned for his invigorating charisma and natural charm—a sweet smile, a kindness that few could resist; the perfect man, many would say. Yet, beneath those colorful petals, sharp thorns lay hidden. Dandicus is a carnivorous plant; he possesses a docile appearance, but beneath that false mask of sweetness lurks a twisted, sadistic mind. It is simply part of his nature; the taste of flesh between his sharp teeth is his greatest delight. He adores the culinary arts—specifically, the way he can transform disgusting men into a delectable buffet. No one has been able to solve the case of the serial cannibal; his victims vary in appearance, personality, and lifestyle—there was no apparent pattern by which he could be linked to them. Dandy was not merely charming; he was exceptionally intelligent. He knows how to leave no trace; he knows exactly what to say and how to act. He even possessed the audacity—the sheer gall—to volunteer his services to the police. Yet there *was* something his victims all had in common—something the police, however, were not astute enough to notice.
—I get it. But if you keep going like this, eventually they’re going to catch on—especially now that Vee is involved in this case, too.— Dandy reacted instantly, spinning around to face him with a look of manic glee.
—Since when do you get along so well with her? Out of nowhere, you’re calling her by her first name so casually! Unbelievable!—
—Dandicus. Cut the nonsense and listen to me. If I wanted to turn you in to the police, I would have done it a long time ago. Don't start making threats. —
—What? Oh, you’ve got me all wrong. I know perfectly well that you wouldn't turn me in—I’m not stupid. —
—Then why the hell are you angry? —
—You two have been getting pretty close lately. —
—…Just because we’re close doesn't mean I’d ever choose her over you, Dandy. I owe you my life; my loyalty will always lie with you. I just think she’s a nice person. Even if you hate her. —
—That’s not it either! I know I’m your best friend! And for the record, I don’t hate her, either. —
—THEN WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!? — The clock was losing his patience; he hated it when Dandy wasn't direct with his words.
—Stop flirting with her! —
Dyle stared at him for a few seconds, blinking in disbelief at what he was hearing. —Dandicus, I’m not flirting with her; I’m just being polite. I don’t have *that* kind of intention. —
—Oh! Then everything is perfect! — Dandy reverted to his usual smile, brimming with sweetness.
Dyle couldn't make heads or tails of what was going on, but he chose to ignore it; he had duties far more important than bickering with his idiot friend—such as, for instance, wiping down the counter again, a task he had already completed the moment the shop opened. Dandy was off in his own little world—not an unusual occurrence for him. Were it not for the fact that he was a cannibalistic serial killer, he would have seemed like just any ordinary toon.
—So, if you don't hate her, why do you act that way toward her? —
The flower wore a broad smile on his lips, his cheeks faintly flushed. —Because I think she's just so cute! —
Once again, Dyle felt as though he were hallucinating. He let the rag he was holding slip from his hand, staring directly at the psychiatrist, searching for any hint of deceit in his words. He found none; Dandy was being completely sincere—a fact which, far from reassuring him, only set off every alarm bell in his head. He couldn't care less if Dandy devoured some random jerk he’d stumbled upon out on the street, but if he intended to eat Vee... well, Dyle wasn't sure he could keep up the charade any longer.
—Do you... want to eat her? — he asked cautiously.
Dandy turned to face him, a dazzling smile beaming across his face. —Of course I do! — Dyle went into a full-blown panic. Perhaps if he knocked Dandy unconscious—hard enough to induce amnesia—Vee would be safe. Spotting the clock-man fumbling under the counter in search of a baseball bat, Dandy quickly corrected himself. —Not literally, you idiot! In a way that’s a bit... more metaphorical. You know—I think she's attractive. —
Dyle stood there, utterly dumbfounded. His face went pale, his eyes narrowed into slits; his expression was one of pure, unadulterated terror and panic.
—...YOU WHAT!? —