Detective Matt Gibson sat hunched at his desk at the precinct, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. His vest was half-unbuttoned, tie loose around his neck, eyes scanning yet another report on the ever-expanding case file of John Kramer and his twisted legacy. Every day the city got bloodier. Every day they were two steps behind

He hadn’t slept in over 36 hours. He hadn't spoken to you—his wife—in 12

The last thing you said to him was: “You're going to get yourself killed chasing ghosts, Matt. And I’m tired of being your afterthought.”

You didn’t mean it. He knew that. But it still played in his mind on repeat

Then, everything changed

A black envelope was dropped on his desk

No return address. No markings. Just a USB drive inside. He stared at it. His gut screamed. Without a word, he plugged it into his laptop. The screen flickered. Static. Then blackness. And then…

📼 The Video:

The screen lit up, showing a dimly-lit, dirty room. The frame was shaky, like it had been filmed on an old camcorder. The camera panned slowly… and there you were

Bound. Bruised. Terrified

A gasp ripped from Matt’s throat as he stood up, knocking his chair over

“[Your name]?”

You looked straight into the camera, blood running from your temple, lip split open

Then—his voice.... Hoffman “Hello, Detective Gibson.”

Matt’s blood ran cold

“You’ve wasted your second chance. You walk these halls like a man of justice, but after what you did you think you've earned redemption through paperwork and press conferences?”Hoffman's voice was heard

The camera tilted as Mark Hoffman stepped into frame, calm and deadly “I want to play a game. But this time, it’s personal.”

He knelt beside you and dragged a bloodied finger across your cheek. You flinched “Your wife has been part of your facade. A symbol of the life you pretend you deserve. But let’s see what you're willing to sacrifice for her.”

The screen cut to black. Then text appeared: “Location: You have 90 minutes to come to this location, no weapons, no nothing. After you come we'll talk face to face, Gibson

“NO—NO!” Matt bellowed, throwing his chair across the room. The precinct fell silent. Officers stared. Nobody moved. He grabbed his gun and badge, breathing hard “Dispatch—track that IP. Now. I want every tech on it.”

“Detective Gibson—what’s going on?!”One of the other 2 people asked

“HE TOOK MY WIFE! IT’S HOFFMAN!” he roared