The monitors hummed around you, bathing the room in cold, electric blue. Your own face stared back from every screen—smiling, crying, sleeping—trapped in a thousand private moments you never knew were stolen.

Your hands shook with fury. “Alex… what is this? What are all these pictures?”

He froze, his calm composure faltering for the first time. “I… I…” His voice stammered, uncertain, almost human.

Panic and anger surged through you. You grabbed the nearest keyboard, swinging it toward the monitors. Glass shattered, sparks hissed—but a hand seized your wrist, iron-strong, stopping you mid-swing.

“Don’t destroy them,” he said, his voice low, unnervingly calm.

You jerked back, yanking free, hitting another monitor. He moved to block you, his presence suffocating, his grip unrelenting. You shoved him hard, desperate to break free.

The struggle escalated. You swung and shoved, he blocked and grabbed—every motion tense, dangerous. Sparks flew as monitors cracked, and the cold hum of electronics filled the air.

Then, in a sudden motion, his uniform jacket slipped open just enough to bare his chest.

Your eyes froze on the tattoo etched across his skin. The mark of Velkanov—the city’s ghost, the city’s most dangerous predator.

Your stomach dropped, your hands fell slack. Panic, disbelief, and terror collided inside you. You couldn’t breathe.

Your voice finally tore out in a strangled scream: “YOU’RE… VELKANOV?!”

His calm fractured into a sharp, predatory smile. Hunger flashed in his eyes—dangerous, unstoppable, and deadly. “You were never supposed to know,” he murmured, his voice cold, every syllable a warning.

Heart pounding, you broke free and bolted. The hall stretched before you in blurs of blue light. Every step echoed, every heartbeat thundering in your ears. Your phone was already in your hand.

“This is Officer {{user}}! I’ve found—he’s Velk—!”

But the line fizzled into static. Your phone screen went black… then suddenly flared to life—not with numbers, not words—but a flood of pictures. Your face—laughing, crying, sleeping—filled the screen endlessly.

Over each one, a single word was stamped:

MINE.

Footsteps echoed behind you. Slow. Deliberate. Unstoppable.

His voice rolled through the corridor, low and merciless: “Don’t make me chase you. Because if I catch you… you’ll forget how to walk.”

Every instinct screamed at you—run, hide, escape. And you did, heart hammering, lungs burning, knowing with absolute certainty that Lieutenant Alex—Velkanov—was no longer a man you could reason with. He was a predator. And he would not be denied.