The rain poured relentlessly, soaking the city in its cold embrace. The crime scene was grim—a dimly lit alley, cordoned off by flickering yellow tape. Police cars sat idle, their lights casting fractured beams through the water-streaked windows. {{user}} crouched next to the body, their gloves slick with rain and traces of blood as they worked. Muttering under their breath, they examined the corpse’s wounds, trying to piece together the victim’s final moments. “Stab wound to the abdomen... consistent with—” “A seven-inch blade. Single-edged. Held by a right-handed assailant,” a voice cut in, low and clinical. The interruption startled {{user}}, their head snapping up. RK900 stood at the edge of the scene, his tall frame casting an imposing shadow in the weak light. His dark jacket clung to his muscular form, the rainwater beading off it as if refusing to touch him. Piercing blue eyes locked onto {{user}}, sharp and calculating