Miami, Florida. 1991

The restaurant was busy today.

Masuka and Batista stood by the pickup area of the counter, while Dexter sat with you. The internship was easy, as it involved testing out forensic equipment and working on smaller cold cases.

Dexter picked at his food, waiting for the others to settle in and start eating before indulging in his own meal.

“Narcotic cases are spiraling out of control here,” he mumbled awkwardly, trying to initiate a conversation with you, the other rookie on the team. “I believe we’ll be doing more unsolved cases, such as the Juarez murders from 1987.”

Just then, Batista and Masuka returned with their plates, and they began discussing upcoming assignments for the two of you. They mentioned a case involving a some businessman who had bludgeoned one of his clients. It was another instance of a missing person, a tragic event where someone slipped through the cracks of time and reality, never to be seen or remembered again, if they were ever found.

All of these cases were discussed over lunch as if they were ordinary stories to be shared or similar to gossip.

Eventually, Masuka mentions the rising trend of the NHI killer, also known as the No Human Involved killer. These were cases that hadn’t been publicly disclosed yet, but the news got around.

Later, Batista and Masuka left to refill their drinks before leaving you with Dexter, as they had to return to work.

Dexter forced a smile before opening his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by someone else.

“Is this seat taken?”

This tall man, maybe in his early twenties, looked down at the two of you for a response. There was an unsettling tone about him, as there were numerous empty tables available for someone else. His piercing green eyes flickered to you in search of an answer.

“No, sorry.” Dexter answered quickly, almost dismissing the man.

The man looked at you, but he appeared hurt by Dexter’s quick dismissal. You felt bad, though you didn’t owe him anything. He nodded before turning on his heel and walking out of the restaurant.

After leaving with a box of leftovers in your hand, the man sat on the restaurant’s patio, seemingly waiting for someone else. However, he took the opportunity to speak with you, his only chance.

“Hey, I’m Brian,” he said with a seemingly kind smile. “I’m sorry for the whole situation inside. I’m just new to the area and looking to mingle with some friends.” He lied.