Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

    Once upon a time, when the world was just at its begining, two brothers by blood, friends by choice, led together the elves and held together The harmony: The Master of Light and the Master of Darkness. The balance was perfect; they were Ying and Yang. Life was simple, peacefull, quiet and happy....until the peace shattered along with the Masters' bond.

       The Master of Darkness, full of jealousy, greed and desire to control, started a war against his brother: The Realms War. 

     The world divided in two parts, so did the elves divided in two: the Light warriors, fighting to restable peace, unity and freedoom; and the Darkness warriors, fighting for their Master and to concuer the world.

     Hundreds of years and thousands of souls perished, fighting and bleeding for their greater cause. 

     The Master of Light knew he has to put an end to this madness, or the war would never end.Summoning all his power, he managed to send and trap his brother into the Shadows World, along with The elves that supported The Master of Darkness( who swore to revenge on the Master of Light and concuer the world), and ending the war.

    Once the peace was restored, the Master of Light knew that a single being can't have the entire power, so he created other four elements and Masters to lead the world:

🔥Fire- passion, courage, loyalty,

🌊Water- flexibility, calmness, empathy

🌪️Air- joy, playfulness, youth 

🌱⛰️Earth- realism, protectivness, charm

☀️🌟 Light- truth, harmony, Balance, love, leading all four elements for the greater good

    Together, the five elements protected the world, lead the elves of the five elements, recreating the harmony before.

    Eventually, the five masters realised that they won't be forever, that they needed someone to continue the mission they started, someone to protect the ones that can't protect themselves and the world, both of elves and humans, even If they hadn't the same power as The Masters themselves, but had the heart and were the right hands of them, beings able to bend one of the five elements, to protect, that reappeared generation after generation, mantaining the peace and balance.....

The Guardians.

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Back in 2009

The cold autumn air blew through the streets of the small university city of Oxford, orange and reddish leaves floating down the breeze. The moon shone brightly against the sky like a brilliant diamond, creating a splendid contrast against the dark navy ocean of stars. The streets of Oxford were lit by the lanterns, candles and sculpted jack-o'-lanterns, some with spooky grins and expressions, some more goofy and childish.

     It was Halloween, and the streets of the small city were full of trick-or-treaters who were knocking on doors and asking for candies, laughter and shrieks of joy filling the cold air.

    On the rooftops, meanwhile, two shadows moved with great speed, jumping from a rooftop to another, their silouettes dark against the moonlight. One was tall, athletic; the other was shorter, skinny, but both moved like leaves in the wind. The shorter one did a double backflip with a long arc and landed gracefully on the other rooftop. Standing tall at his full 5'10", with a fully red armour and with ginger-coppery hair ruffled by the wind, Morse took a step in front, cross-armed and looking at Jakes.

Peter Jakes stopped at the edge of his rooftop and fixed Morse with his green gaze.

Peter( smirking): Do you really think that you're very good, huh?

Morse: I don't think .I know.

Peter(cracking his knuckles): Oh, really?You're on Fire Boy. Now let Jakes-man here how's done.

     Peter took a few steps back, sprinted at full speed and attempted a backflip with a spin in the air...only to miscalculate and crash straight into Morse, sending both of them rolling on the rooftop's concrete floor, together with Morse's katanas and Peter's nunchucks.

Morse( groaning from under Peter): Seriously, Peter?

Peter( standing up, rubbing his left arm):Buddy, I'm not the brains here. I'm the inflictor. I don't calculate with numbers my moves, I do my moves out of reflex.

   He extended his hand toward Morse who got took it and got up. After that, Morse walked toward his katanas and the nunchucks, picking them up.

Morse: Then improve your reflex, wouldn't you?

Morse handed Peter the nunchucks before he walked toward the edge of the rooftop, despite the feeling of unease crossing his body.

Morse: Hm, this rooftop has the best view angles for spying. We'll spot easily the McKenzie brothers if they come to make the deal with Eddie Nero's men.( Turning to Jakes) We stay here and spy.

Jakes( spinning lazily one nunchuck): Tch. I thought our recognition mission would be more spicy, but else....looks like I'm going to die out of boredom.

Morse: You know what Inspector Thursday said. No distractions, no stupid and useless fights,no..

Peter( cutting him off):Yeah, yeah,  I get it, no funny business. But seriously, this still will be a boring night.

     Jakes walked to the edge of the rooftop and sat down, swinging his legs lazily over the edge. The city hummed with life beneath his feet, almost like an anthill. He looked down at the kids laughing, at the colourful costumes, the small stalls and attractions, his green eyes sparkling with nostalgia and mischief.

The older man noticed how the detective stared longingly at the pedestrians and sighed.

Morse:Go.

Jakes( eyes wide, eyebrow raised): Wait, what? Seriously?

Morse:Yes. I will surveil the streets below. But  don't stay there too long, we're still on work time.

Peter( playfully punching Morse's left shoulder):Thanks! You’re the best, buddy!

Jakes got on his feet, sprinted to another edge with a dark alley below, jumped from the rooftop, embeding the blade of one of his nunchaku-kusarigamas and slid down with a pretty loud ,,Yeah" until he landed. Morse watched his friends until he dissapeared from his sight and blended in the crowd of trick-or-treaters. Jakes was lucky that night— he didn’t even need to find a Halloween costume; his armor, along with his nunchaks, made for the perfect disguise.

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      Meanwhile, hiding in the shadows, a dark, tall and broad-shouldered silouette stalked with his gaze the two young men ever sincer they have arrived on that rooftop.

The silhouette( to himself): These are the ninjas Master Takeshi told me to find and punish? 

     He watched as Jakes spinned lazily his nunchucks and grimaced, almost in disgust.

The silhouette( growling): So dishonorable! How does he dare to mock the ancient art of Kobudō like that?

      The shadows watched as the two heroes talked and teased eachother before the taller man leapt off the rooftop, while the ginger-haired one remained, survening the streets below.

      His brows furrowed, the meeting and  words of his master still fresh in his mind.

,,The small room was in perfect silence as Hirata Genkei waited for his Sensei, Master Takeshi Harutoshi, to arrive. He stood on his feet,feeling the coldness of the tatami floor of the dojo. Genkei looked at the floor, his dark brown eyes and facial expression unreadable. He didn't flinch when the shoji doors opened and his Sensei entered. Master Takeshi Harutoshi was a lean man with black hair tied into a small high bun and dark brown eyes like mahogany. He looked every bit like the dignified ninja master that he was, wearing his black kimono with cherry red blossom embrodery , black hakama and his katana and wakizashi at his side.

Genkei( bowing, then sitting after his master took a sit): Konbanwa, Takeshi-sama.

Takeshi( bowing , taking a sit): Konbanwa, Genkei-san. 

     Two samurais drapped in black clothes with red cherry blossom embrodery guarded the door.

Takeshi: Do you know why I told you to come to me, Genkei-san?

Genkei: Iie, Sensei. Your son, Renji-san, told me just to come here.

Takeshi: Good.Genkei-san, I have a mission for you.(Pauses). As you know very well, our residence in England has been peacefull since we moved from Japan. (Pitch raised, pressing on the words). However, a small clan of ninjas from Oxford intervenes in our activities. Stop them, Genkei-san. Don't asasinate them;it is not necessary. Scary them, maybe scratch them a bit, but no harm from pure hate; we are samurais, not ninjas; we have honour and discipline. Do you understand, Genkei-san?

Genkei( bowing again): Hai, master. I will do as you command.

Takeshi: You can go now, but remember: if you fail to accomplish you mission or disobey my orders, you will suffer the consequences.

Genkei: Hai, Sensei.

     Genkei and his master stood up, bowed, then the earlier one left their London base, blending in the shadows from the streets."

Genkei: It's time to teach you a lesson, disrespectful children.

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From the rooftop, Morse shook his head and continued to watch the costumed people from the streets, never taking his eyes off Jakes. He smiled, a small smile, but still present. The air grew colder, giving Morse chills on his arms where the armor didn't cover his skin. 

  Indeed, the crowd and the festive energy were quite pleasent and nostalgic. Morse remembered his first Hallowen with his mom, back when he was a small boy and she made him a simple costume of a ghost from a white and old blanket. It wasn't much, but he was happy back then and it was all that matteres.

Morse was too deep lost in his thoughts and memories to notice what was happening around him...not noticing even the second presence on the rooftop.

Before he realized from where the hot breath on his neck came, a large hand covered his mouth before he was able to scream. Another hand grabbed his torso and arms, not giving him the chance to reach for his katanas strapped across his back. Morse kicked his legs, trying to reach the ground or to judo-flip his attacker, but he couldn't.

Peter was wandering around a stand when he saw  the two figures disappearing across the rooftop. He ran  through the crown and extended the chain of his nunchaks when he arrived in the alley. He threw the blade in the edge of the rooftop and gripped the weapons tightly, and used them to climb the building. Once up, he shifted them back into nunchaks and looked ahead.

A tall man at a solid 6'5", with large shoulders and drapped in black, was holding Morse who struggled to escape, screams muffled by the hand that covered his mouth.

Peter: Hey, let him go!

Without hesitation, Peter extended one of the chains and struck the man on the side.The attacker hissed in pain and released Morse. The Detective Sergeant rushed beside his friend, katanas drawn with a loud shing.

Morse( katanas' blades gleaming in the moonlight): Who are you and what do you want?

Genkei( standing tall, unsheating his naginata): I am here to teach tou a lesson in humilty, you disobedient children.

Peter( spinning nunchucks): Really? That speech about honour? When do you were born, in Middle Ages? 

Genkei( teeth gritting, a vein popping at his temple): How dare you to mock me, insolent brat?

Genkei lunged with his naginata aimed at Peter, but Peter sidestepped and Genkei regained his balance at the last second.

Peter( smirking): How was that, old man?

    Genkei growled and lunged again, only to be blocked by Morse and his twin katanas. The force of the lunge made Morse's heels scrap the concrete floor. The ginger man grunted and broke away, swinging his blades with sharp accuracy at Genkei who dodged every move.

Genkei( mocking): This is all you can do, child?

 Peter threw his nunchuck chain to wrap it around Genkei's right leg, but the older man jumped and avoided it. In that split of second, Morse jump-kicked Genkei and send him rolling on the ground. The enemy got quickly on his feet and lunged again, swinging his naginata blade at the Fire Guardian. The Detective Sergeant barely avoided the blade that flew inches away from his face. Peter swung and wrapped his nunchucks chains around the naginata, both him and the attacker pulling on; but the latter hit Jakes in the shin and judo-flipped him on the ground....and in that moment, Morse kicked Genkei and sent him on the ground again. 

     Genkei stood up again, only to be met by both Morse and Peter in fight stances.

Peter: Do you want round two, freak? 

Genkei: This is not the ending.You will see! I will be back! Samurai Hirata Genkei doesn’t get humiliated by children!

Peter( smug smirk):Maybe in your dreams, masked freak!Try it again — we’ll beat you so bad you’ll cry for a week. Sayonnara!

    Morse threw a smoke bomb on the rooftop, deep purple smoke sorrounding the attacker.

Morse and Peter jumped to another rooftop, and so on, until their tall, slim silhouettes vanished into the night before Genkei could follow them.

Genkei (muttered between coughs): I will return.Sooner or later, I will get my hands on you, cursed youths…

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         Later that night, when the sky started to lit up and the moon to fall back and let the sun take its place , Genkei returned to his base, ashamed of his failure. He passed by some samurais that greeted him, but he didn't respond. His mind was focused on only one thing: the meeting with his master. Finally, he arrived at the dojo, his heart hammering in his chest. He knocked on the wooden frame and Master Takeshi allowed him to enter.

      Genkei bowed and remained on his feet as his Sensei walked calmly and stopped.

Takeshi: Genkei-san, did you manage to scare those ninjas?

Genkei( gulped, considering his words): Master, I...I have failed. 

     An icy silence fell over the two Japanese men.

Takeshi: What do you mean you have failed?

Genkei: I-I...They defeated me. I fought them, but they are tricky ninjas; they used trickery and won.

Takeshi Harutoshi took a deep breath, then exhaled with the fury of one thousand suns.

Takeshi: You have failed me, Hirata Genkei-san. You have failed your master, your sensei. Now, you shall face the consequences.

Genkei( whispered, eyes wide, face pale): What consequences?

Takeshi ( stare piercing Genkei's soul): You are no longer part of the Takeshi clan. I disown you. From now on, you are a ronin covered in shame.Now leave this sanctuary. Never return here, or else....(Pauses, points to the shoji door). Leave. Now.

        Genkei bowed again and left, his head lowered and shoulders slumped, looking on the ground. He was too ashamed to look at the others.

    He was disowned. He lost his honour, his status, his pride; he became a ronin, and all just because of some dishonorable ninjas.

     His steps were heavy, pressing against the clean  wooden floor.

As he walked away toward the exit, Genkei couldn't think at something else except for revenge; revenge on the two men that ruined him like that...

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2021

(9 months later after the curse of Neil Cruise's haunted house episode)

It was an early, hot July day. The sun shone brightly on the clear blue sky, a few pinkish-grey clouds floating carelessy around. It was a Friday day which felt just as busy and boring as any other day of the week.

From the rooftop of his apartment building, Endeavour Morse stood on his feet, smoking a cigarette. Waves of smoke curled in the air as he exhaled both smoke and the stress acumulated that day. His light blue button up shirt was Slightly wrinkled and messy tucked in his black straight jeans. The breeze was gentle, barely making his long green trench coat flutter. His light blue gaze landed on the breath-taking view of the city’s historical buildings and he sighed.

        Morse had a long and exhausting day. The Detective Sergeant not only had to handle a missing person case and a theft, but he also had to solve a murder, that somehow ended to be connected with the theft. He searched all the folders about the victim, worked with Dorothea Frazil ( which wanted informations in exchange of hers so she'd be able to write her new article for the new newspaper). That day, he had eaten just some toast and drank a few cups of tea, but despite this, he faced every single obstaclecof that work day, running on sheer stubbornes, cigarettes and his fire powers. He was exhausted,  taking a break to rest both his body and his mind.

 Morse sat cross-legged on the floor and, with a snap of fingers, rays of fire appeared and made his katanas to appear. He started cleaning his swords, steel blades reflecting the sunlight.

    He was enjoying the view when he saw the postman, Mr. Hastings, walking to the building, most likely delivering some letters or packages.

    The ginger-coppery haired man dismissed his weapons, put out his cigarette and walked to his apartment. He descendent the stairs in a hurry,jumping two steps at once. He arrived exactly when the postman arrived at his door.

Mr. Hastings( looking at the police officer): Evenin', sir.

Morse: Evenin', Mr. Hastings. Do you have some bills for me?

Mr. Hastings ( searching in his bag, handing a letter envelope to Morse):Actually, you've got a letter.

Morse (frowned):, A letter, you say?

Mr. Hastings: Yes. I don't know from is and I'm kinda busy right now..

Morse: Sure, there is no problem, Mr. Hastings.

   The postman tipped his cap as a goodbye and left, his large bag banging on his side as he climbed the stairs.

    The Detective Sergeant entered his flat, the door closing behind him with a loud thud.

Morse(muttering, studying the envelope): This is strange...who sends letters in the 21th century? And who would send a letter to me?

    He looked carefully at the dates..and the sender truly surprised him. The letter was from Peter Jakes!

    Peter Jakes had left England for the U.S. in 2012 and sometimes visited him and the rest of the gang. He usually texted them, but to write a letter? Well, that was odd. But the curiosity got the better of him. The Detective Sergeant opened the envelope and took the letter from inside.

   The first thing that hit Morse was that the handwriting wasn't Peter's.

   The second thing that hit Morse was that the letter's content.

,,Detective Sergeant Morse,

We haven’t seen each other in a long time since our departure on that fatefull night.Maybe you don’t remember me; it's been almost a decade since then. But I remember everything. I remember you and what you and your friend have done to me.. Peter Jakes, wasn't he?

 You dishonored me. I was cast out of my clan for my failure to stop you; my master disowned me and since then I am covered in shame. You and your friend will face the consequences of your actions.

You and your friend are running out of time.

It is time to pay.

                                                   Your enemy,

                                                  Hirata Genkei,,

Morse's eyes narrowed on the paper. What was going on? Who was this man and what wanted from him? What he and Peter had done to be targeted?

His instincts told him something was off. He knew that this was only a warning for what was coming.

He knew he needed help.

He had to call Cameron and Jim.

To be continued....

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

     Cameron and Jim's footsteps echoed down the staircase as they climbed toward Morse's flat. The hallway was pretty dark, only small bulbs that occasionally flickered giving enough light to not trip and fall down the stairs.

  Cameron and Jim were climbing side by side. A navy blue backpack hanged from one of her shoulders, occasionally swinging as she stepped. Her short ginger-coppery hair was ruffled and spiky, while her brown- green eyes looked tired even from beyond the lens of her cherry red glasses.

    She had a long day at Station House 4. She had to stop a fight between two suspects, one of the suspects managing to punch her in the ribs, and she punched back harder. She had argued half an hour with Constable Henry Higgins that he can't fix his typing machine by HITTING IT BY THE DESK. She had to take Murdoch back to his home because he didn't have a driver license because he had zero vehicle-driving abilities. And while she drove, he had talked about ,,the stupid action stunts" from a movie he watched recently, about how unrealistical they were. Her wrinkled baggy black jeans and black Nirvana t-shirt , her dusted long green flared trench coat and dirty white sneakers gave away her exhaustion and ,,I don't care" energy in those moments. She took a glance at Jim and his impecabile beige suit and clean look, asking herself how can that man be so fresh after such a long day of work with such a stressful job and annoying colleagues. And George Fancy? Detective Constable George Fancy was currently sick and bed confined after a water battle with his nephews started and staying in front of an working AC to dry; bad move, by the way.

Cameron: Well, what do you think is this time?

Jim: This time what?

Cameron: The letter, Jim! What do you think about this time letter? New enemy, a serial killer, maybe the Master of Darkness?

Jim( scratching the back of his neck): Cam, I don't know. The only thing I understood from Morse's message was that some weirdo threated him with a letter.

Cameron groaned.

     Shortly after, they arrived at Morse's flat.

Jim( looking at Cameron): Well, You enter first this time.

Cameron ( frowned): Why me? Why not you, Jim?

Jim: Well, last time when I entered first in his flat, a shuriken flew inches away from my right ear and embedded itself in the door's frame.

Cameron ( smirking): Coward.

Jim( large arms crossed): Hey! I'm not a coward, I just value my ears, that's all.

    Cameron sighed and knocked on the door. Seconds later, Morse opened the door with the speed of a small tornado.

Morse: Hello. 

Cameron: So, on what did you get yourself this time?

   Morse rolled his eyes, stood aside and let them come in. The smell of books and cigarettes hit them immeadiately. They walked down the small hallway and entered the living room.

     Morse's flat wasn't sophisticated; in fact, it was kind of modest, If you looked better. The walls were painted light grey, the wooden floor looked old, the sofa was compact, made from material, a bit washed, but in good condition; an old, dark green compact armchair was in the right side of the sofa and a coffee table covered with crosswords, pens and an empty tea cup stood in front. At the window, an old, dark brown desk with a matching chair were placed, looking like they froze in time since 1960s.

Cameron flopped onto the couch and eyeing the books and vynil records scattered everywhere.

Cameron: You may wanna start the Spring Clean earlier this year.

Morse( sitting on the armchair):Says the one that has her living room table full of sketches, pens and work folders.

Cameron( smirking): It's called creative disorganised order, thank you very much.

Jim( clapping his big chubby hands, sitting on the sofa): So, what's the letter about, matey?

    Morse searches into his coat's pockets until he found the letter and handed it to Cameron. She opened it and Jim moved next to her to have a better sight of the content.

   As their eyes darted across the words written in blue ink in cursive, elegant letters, their confusion and curiosity grew with each passing word. Cameron's brow furrowed, while Jim raised his brown eyebrows in confusion. The woman looked with a ,,Morse, what's this?" look at the ginger-haired man. Morse looked back at her, his expression calm and somehow unreadable.

    The awkard silence was broke by Jim, of course.

  Jim:Hold on, matey. Let me get this straight.What does this weirdo want from you?

Cameron:Where were your eyes when we read the letter?

Jim( arms crossed over his big bod): In their sockets, where they belong.

Morse:Putting your little banter aside, the letter is a warning for a threat that will be soon happening.And it looks I'm the target, along with Peter.

Cameron(leaning back on the sofa): Well, we can deduce some things easily.

Jim: Like what?

Cameron: Well, first of all, Hirata Genkei is a Japanese name. In Oxford aren't too many Asian people.

Morse: Yes, but take a better look at the envelope. It says it was send from Camden, London, by Peter Jakes.

Cameron ( taking the envelope): Hm...This isn't Peter's handwriting, I'm very sure about this. And I think our suspect is in London.

Morse: And what makes so sure this Genkei is there? He faked the name; he could faked the adress too.

Cameron: I'm not so sure. Can you wait a minute?

      The ginger-coppery haired woman opened her backpack, searched in and took out a crimson folder. She flipped it open and, satisfied of the content, she handed it to Morse.

     The blue eyed man took the folder and read IT carefully, slowly, like he always did. And when he found something usefull..

Morse( aloud): .....Hitara Takumi, aged 56, is under arrest for the illegal manufacture and distribution of controlled substances....Hirata Genkei, aged 58, the brother of Hirata Takumi, insists that he was with his brother at his residence in London when....

 Cameron (raised an eyebrow): I have this case because Murdoch and I found evidence that Hitara Takumi sells drugs even here in Oxford. But this is not the point. The point is that the guy we search is in Camden, London.

Jim( scratching the back of his Head): Isn't Camden a big area, though?

Morse: Today's Friday, the first day of weekend. He have two days to find Genkei before we have to return to the cases at the work. I think that we have enough time.

Jim:Anyway, the letter’s for you, Morse. This Genkei isn’t from our past — he’s from yours. It’s about you and Peter.

Morse: To be honest, I don’t even remember which night he’s talking about.We’ve had so many night patrols — with you two, with Peter, with Fancy...

Cameron: Did you and Peter beat him up or what? He clearly hasn’t forgotten. Especially since he writes that he lost his honour, which for a Japanese man is, like, everything.

Morse: He’s definitely someone from my past. Someone you don’t know and I don't know. But either way, Genkei’s clearly planning something and we must stop him.

Jim (eagerly, looking at Cameron):Are we taking the car?

Camerom:We’ll fly.When it gets a bit darker, we’ll take off. If we go by car, he might detect us easier. He can recognise Morse's car or even mine or yours, especially if he’s been watching Morse for a while and appears to know him so well. In the air, he can’t track us. 

Jim: Okay. 

Morse:So be it.

Jim( to Cameron): But I need to take my armor from my place. 

Cameron: Fine. But we meet on the rooftop of this building and leave from there.

Jim( salutes, sits up): Yes, boss!

 Morse rolled his eyes, but said nothing as Jim walked away, left the flat and closed the door behind him with a loud thud.

Cameron sat up and dusted of her clothes.

Cameron ( to Morse): Well, we should go to the rooftop, shall we?

     Morse saw the playful look she gave him and based on that, he suspected that she was again in her action-ready mood. That glint in her eyes was an obvious hint for him, ever since they met eachother. She jumped from the sofa and walked toward the front door. He sat up and followed her outside the apartment , up to the stairs, heading to the rooftop.

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As the sun began to succumb,  orange, blue and rose traces melted into navy blue darkness, signaling the arrival of night. Morse and Cameron waited on the rooftop for Jim. A small breeze blew, brushing against their bare arms. Morse stood with his hand in his trousers' pockets, looking from the concrete rooftop to the moon and back to Cameron. The Light Guardian paced like a caged lion , cross-armed, muttering under her breath things Morse couldn't hear.

Cameron( pacing): Are you sure you don't remember anything about this Genkei? Nothing after I read the folder?

Morse: If I would have remembered, I would have told you. But no, I don't remember who he is. We fought and arrested so many criminals and villains across the years.. I can't remember all of them.

Cameron( smirking, walking to him): Wow, Endeavour Morse, the man who can quote from Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, Virgil’s Aeneid, and works by Plato, Sophocles, and Herodotus can't remember one enemy?That's something.

Morse( glares): Well, I'm a half human being.But everybody forgets, even the mystical beings. Alas, you forget as much as I do.

Cameron:Tch. How would have been If you forgot..I don't know... physics formulas? Oh, or Wagner's operas? That would be really tragic.

Morse( gasping, pretending to be offended): You take that back!

   She smiled and chuckled, while Morse couldn't help but smile despite himself. She has always known how to make him laugh and take him out of his melancholic mood when they were in their free time. And somehow, he enjoyed when she managed to get under his skin.

     The Light Guardian's laugh faded as she took the serious,focused leader face.

Cameron: Okay, okay, this was fun, but seriously now, you have not even the slightest idea who this Genkei is?

Morse: No. I-

     Before Morse could finish his sentence, the door to the rooftop slammed open and Jim walked in his Iron-Man style armour.

Jim: Ready to go?

Cameron summoned white rays of light from her back, spreading and taking the shape of wings resembling those of a peregrine falcon. Morse summoned his fire wings, orange fire rays spreading from his back, similar to an eagle’s.

Jim, unlike the others, had reactors in his boots. At first he had been dissapointed that he didn't have cool wings like his friends did, but this faded as the years passed.

Morse and Cameron nodded. Taking soar, they took of flying, and Jim followed them shortly,  with less grace and more..noise.

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     As they flew above the ground , the cold breeze ruffled their hair and brushed against their skin.Though it was getting darker, the landscapes were still visible and still beautiful.

The fields stretched endlessly like an imense ocean, green with various plants, flowers. Occasionally, a tree interrupted the vast green sea, twigs cracking from the wind like burning woods in a chimney.

Morse felt the wind in his hair and a sense of something he couldn't identify in that moment.Sure, he had flown many times with different objectives, but the feeling wasn't caused from the flight, of the air that ran down his spine and arms, or the way the moon shone on the sky; it was a feeling of...deja-vu? No, it wasn't. Dread? premonition, perhaps? Or maybe the ,,gut feeling" as Jim and Peter had called it? He couldn't tell exactly, and he couldn't put his finger on it.

Maybe it was just his senses or his mind messing with him.

Or maybe not.

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     As they closed in the distance, the three police officers were able to see the tall modern buildings of London rising in the view, along with the bright lights and the usual life hum of the city.

    After about an hour of flight ,wind and some leaves stuck and removed from hair, they arrived in London and landed on a tall rooftop of a living building.

Jim (cracking his knuckles):And now? Where do we go?

Cameron:The letter was from Camden, so we’ll investigate Camden.

Jim:And where are we now? 

Cameron: In Camden. To cover more ground, we’ll split up: Morse, take the south and southwest area. You, Jim, take the northwest and north area. I’ll cover the northeast and east area.

Morse: Isn't Camden big, though? In Camden live lover quart a million of people.

Cameron: I know it's big, but we search the dark, empty and dangerous places; a criminal or what Genkei is won't wait in an open or safe area where people can easily see him.

Jim: These places look like ones where you get killed.

Morse: We are police officers and warriors. We deal with this kind of threats almost every day. What, are you scared of some normal thief or something?

Jim: No, I'm not. Ugh, fine.(To Morse, pointing his index finger to the shorter man) But if I get knocked out cold, you owe me a dinner.

Morse( rolling his eyes): Then fish and chips will be.

Cameron: Let's put the jokes aside and focus on the mission. The faster we finish, the sooner we return home.

    She took of sprinting, jumped and descended, landing with no sound on a rooftop Below and running again. Morse And Jim left soon the rooftop, starting to search in their areas.

______________________________________________

        Unknown to them, someone watched them all that time from the shadows, studying them, discovering where they would go, planning how to take them down and how to make them pay for his humiliation.Genkei stood on a rooftop at a safe distance all that time, watching them like a hawk assesing its prey and contamplating his plans.

Genkei( stroking his beard): Tonight, these three fools shall face my wrath and revenge, especially Detective Sergeant Morse. When I will be done with them, they will regret even knowing the great Hirata Genkei, samurai of honour once, now disgraced and clanless ronin.

    He touched the handle of his naginata, feeling the cold metal of his prized and trusty weapon under his fingers tips. Genkei looked around, and with the speed and precision he had always had, he took of running, jumping from a rooftop to another, determined to show the three what he was capable of and teach them a lesson in humilty.

To be continued....

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Jim's POV:

      The young, broad-shouldered man jumped from one rooftop to another, barely catching the edge and landing with a loud metallic thud that made the concrete shook. Each impact echoed through the night air like an anvil hitting the pavement. He grunted, groaned, and muttered under his breath. He wasn't built for this kind of movement — no sprinting, no flipping, no fancy rooftop acrobatics like Morse or Cameron. No, if Jim was anything, he was the tank, the brute force, the muscle of the group. The guy who bench-pressed problems and punched through walls.

      As he jumped another rooftop, he decided that a ground search would be more on his area. But first of all, he took a break to take his breath. Jim stood on the edge of the rooftop, his polished Iron-Man style armour gleaming in the moonlight.

Jim: Bloody thing. I should work more on my resistence, eh? 

He looked around, the London skyline silent and vast. A light breeze danced over the roof’s edge. It was oddly quiet — eerily so. The kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of his neck twitch. A silence Morse would probably enjoy. He could almost imagine his colleague in the Bodleian Library, flipping through dusty tomes while sipping tea like he was born with a monocle.

Jim: Quiet, this place, innit? Like a library. I think Morse is used to this kind of silence from all those cases at Bodleian.

He sat on the ledge for a good quarter hour, scanning the area occasionally, letting the cool night air dry the sweat on his forehead. Every so often he’d lean forward, narrowing his brown eyes for any sign of motion — a shadow, a figure, a glint. But all was still.

Jim: Well, time to get up. I have a mission after all.

    He stood and moved slowly to the fire escape, each metal step creaking slightly under his armored boots. He descended carefully, not because he feared the height, but because his armor tended to echo like a medieval knight on a trampoline.

______________________________________________

    Jim arrived in a dark side alley, surrounded by dumpsters and trash. The smell of garbage still lingered in the air from the heat from the day time, unluckily for the police officer.

Jim (wrinkled his nose): Brilliant. This is where Morse would say something poetic, like 'the air thick with the rot of civilization.' I say it just smells like garbage and despair.

He walked cautiously, looking everywhere to make sure no enemy would jump out and ambush him....or be sure he won't step in glass, garbage or other disgusting thing.

He didn’t know martial arts. That was Morse’s and Cameron’s thing. What he did know was how to box — and box hard. He had years of training, and even if he wasn’t a gym rat anymore, his arms were still strong. He’d knock out a door with one punch if needed. The problem? His grace of a bull in a China shop.

 He tried to be silent, but his metal boots made a small thud sound every time he stepped.Still, the overweight young man tried to stay focused — he had to watch his back.

CLANG!

Jim jumped as if stung by a bee and looked around for the source of the sound.

Jim:What the heck was that?

He walked around, approaching a dumpster like it was ticking time bomb. He lifted carefully the ladder ,his heart racing, and he saw what had made the noise: a cat. A black, small cat.

Jim:...damn cat. What are you even doing here, little buddy?

    He reached out and gently scratched the cat's head. It purred briefly, then leapt out of the bin and trotted off into the shadows like a ninja.

Jim: Well, that went..well.

The farther he went down the alley, the more fear rooted itself deeper in his soul. His heart pounded like he was in a marathon. The darkness was stronger, the smell unbearable, and somehow, the alley looked like it was infinite.The buildings leaned in closer. The air was thicker. Something about it made his spine tingle.

Jim( under his breath):Stupid alley, stupid darkness, stupid city, stupid mission… Why the hell did we come here now? We could have waited untill morning.

Jim began to regret agreeing to split up. Sure, it was efficient: they covered more ground, and took them less time.But in action and horror movies( especially horror movies), and even in real life sometimes — considering his job as a cop — YOU SHOULD NEVER GO INTO DARK ALLEYS OR SKETCHY STREETS ALONE AT NIGHT. Especially in a city like London, with a crime rate so high, you could turn it into a building and would be a sky-scraper perfect for a big American City.

And even if Cameron was almost always right, that didn’t mean she couldn’t make mistakes; she was a human being(even if she was partially huma), after all. And in that moment, for instance, she made a mistake. She always meant well,sure. She was a tactical genius,a strategist, a warrior..but still. Plus, they didn’t even know what Genkei looked like. From name, he was Asian, Japanese; but he wasn't the only Japanese man in London. There were thousands; and with those numbers, their search was like one for a ghost.

Jim( under his breath, for himself):No one’s flawless. Not even you, Cameron.

    If he looked back, this whole mission looked insane...but he had more insane missions then this. And the most surprising thing, even for Jim, was that how he realised all of this in such a short time?

        In his lack of attention, Jim couldn’t dodge in time what was coming too him— 

WHAM!

Jim took a punch straight to the face, knocking his head back. The impact rattled through his helmet, disorienting him for a second.

Jim quickly recovered and saw his attacker: a Japanese man, as tall as him nearly, broad shouldered, with a battle skirt made from metal, large ankle trousers, shoulder pads, chest plats, a hat made from bamboo, a long dark cape and...tabi and sandals. His arms were muscular, the muscles defined and honed by years of training in martial arts and weapons wielding. The naginata in the man's hands was polished and so sharp that it cut even looking at it.

      Jim squited at him, but he couldn't recognise the man in front of him. He took a fight stance, fists raised in classic boxer style.

Jim:Who are you?

Genkei( circling Jim): You don't know me, but I know you. I watched you and your friends, Morse and the girl. Cameron, isn't she? Such a lovely girl.

Jim: What do you want from us, freak? Why did you send Morse that letter? Why are you stalking us?

Genkei didn’t bother to answer and readied a new attack, but Jim was faster and punched the warrior right in the face.

Genkei barely reacted. He immediately pulled out a dagger and prepared to stab the young man, but Jim blocked the strike, and the dagger flew into a dumpster.

Jim caught Genkei by his arms and threw him into a wall; the villain hit the concrete wall with a crack and fell to the ground face first. Knowing that he hadn't to much time to glee from there and alarm Cameron and Morse, Jim activated his boot reactors, flying several meters up toward the rooftops.

When he reached a safe altitude, he scanned the alley with his scanning device from his helmet, but saw no trace of Genkei.

    Jim wasn't that stupid; he knew that if he got closer, the attacker would strike again, so he figured it was safer to stay up there, maybe fly to alarm his teammates.

But then...

      Genkei jumped from a shadowy corner and tackled Jim, both crashing on the ground with a loud crash when they met the concrete ground.

Jim tried to get up, he wanted to ,but he couldn’t move, feeling a big weight pinning him down.

The villain stood up and placed his foot on Jim’s chest, leaning heavily on that leg.

Jim (weakly):Who are you?

Genkei: Hirata Genkei. And I’ll show you the consequences of your actions.

He raised his leg and slammed a kick into Jim’s ribs.

Pain exploded in Jim’s side. He coughed and curled slightly, but couldn’t fight back.

He watched, barely conscious, as Genkei turned and vanished into the alley’s darkness.

For the next victim, Genkei would show no mercy.

To be continued....

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Cameron's POV

The night sky above London was an ink-black canvas, the stars hidden behind thick clouds as if the heavens themselves were bracing for a storm. Cameron’s tall and slender figure darted across the rooftops like a specter, her movements silent, precise, and impossibly fast. The wind tugged at the ends of her flared trousers, and her breath steamed faintly in the cold summer night.

She didn't had time to waste. Something felt wrong. A subtle pressure in the air — like static before lightning — tickled her skin and tightened her chest. Her Light powers were reacting. She paused at the edge of one rooftop, crouched low with her hand on the roof tiles, scanning the dark alleys and distant streetlamps flickering below.

The sensation wasn’t like anything she had felt from her team. Not Morse’s sharp, fire-laced energy, nor Jim’s grounded, heavy presence. This was unfamiliar. Twisted. Malevolent.

Her heart rate picked up. She rose slowly to her feet and drew her Light staff from her back in a smooth, practiced motion. The staff glowed faintly with her touch — an extension of her will and a weapon of focused power. The city stretched quietly below, but she wasn't longer listening to its normal sounds. She was listening for something else: a threat, an enemy.

And then, with no warning, the roof across from her trembled as a figure landed heavily. Cameron took a defensive stance, brown-green eyes narrowing.

The figure was tall and broad, with a squared posture that screamed strength and discipline. His black outfit resembled a modernized samurai uniform — tactical, flexible, designed for stealth and speed. His face was weathered, like carved stone, with silver-streaked black hair pulled back tightly and cold, dark eyes that glittered with menace.

He smiled.

Genkei:Well, well… who do we have here?

His voice was smooth, almost amused, with just enough condescension to make Cameron’s grip on her staff tighten.

Cameron ( coldly):None of your business.

Genkei:It’s exactly my business to know who are you… Cameron Grey.

Her blood ran cold. Her name, spoken so casually, hit like a slap. This man knew her. Not just vaguely — he knew her.

Cameron( voice low but steady):You must be Genkei.

Genkei:Exactly! Smart girl, I see.

Her jaw tensed. 

Cameron:You were a samurai. You came to Oxford, tried to attack Morse in a cowardly way — unworthy of a true warrior — and you were expelled by your clan for it.

Genkei (clapping slowly):Bingo!Your chubby friend isn’t as clever as you are.

Her stomach twisted, but she didn’t let it show. 

Cameron(tone sharp, almost venomous):What did you do to Jim?

Genkei:Oh, nothing much. Got a few bruises, that’s all. He’ll be fine.

Liar. Cameron knew men like Genkei. He wouldn’t show up just to leave bruises. The fury in her chest surged up like a tide. She didn’t need to wait for a confession — she could already feel the violence behind his words. She lunged at him without hesitation.

Her staff cut the air with a sharp whistle as she aimed straight for his temple. He dodged easily, spinning to the side and trying to land a punch, but she blocked it with the shaft of her staff and rolled away.

Genkei (smirking, circling her like a vulture): Impressive!Agility, reflexes, speed, combat skills — well-trained. You could join me. You’d be a great partner.

Cameron( through gritted teeth, growled almost): Never.

She attacked again, a blur of movement. Her staff struck with speed and precision — aimed to disable, not to kill. But Genkei was fast. Too fast. He dodged and deflected until one hit finally connected — a solid crack to his ribs. He grunted, staggered back slightly.

Cameron pressed on, but he seized the moment between strikes, grabbed her staff with both hands, and yanked it from her grasp. It flew across the rooftop and clattered near a rusted ventilation duct.

Cameron pivoted into a defensive stance. No weapon, no backup. Just her training — and her instincts.

She dodged his punches again and again, using her speed to keep ahead of him. But Genkei was relentless. His strikes came faster, more aggressive, each one testing her limits. Then he caught her — a swift grab to her right arm, locking it in a grip like iron.

Genkei(snarled, dragging her toward the edge of the roof):You’re not getting away!

She fought, kicked, twisted, but it was no use. He was stronger. His hand moved to her throat and lifted her — 20 centimeters off the ground — her feet dangling, her breath cut off in a single second.

She clawed at his wrist, her vision beginning to blur, stars flickering at the edges. He leaned in close, his breath hot and foul.

Genkei( whisperes):If you survive, I’d love for you and your fat friend to witness Morse’s defeat. Now…

He let go.

Time stopped.

The wind howled in her ears as she plummeted. Her body crashed through two rusted balcony railings, then smashed into the crumpled roof of a long-abandoned car. The impact exploded through her spine and ribs, jarring her senses and driving the air from her lungs.

Pain. Blinding pain.

The world tilted sideways. Broken glass glistened around her. A metallic taste filled her mouth. Her head spun, and for a moment, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  Genkei dissapeared for a short time from the edge, only to return with her bo staff scepter of Light. 

Genkei( admiring the weapon, fingers running across it): Such a well balanced weapon. Light to wield, heavy when strikes. The wood and metal balance is perfect..and this weapon belongs with it's possessor.

     Genkei walked on the edge and let the scepter fall over Cameron.

Genkei:Two down. One to go…

Genkei’s voice echoed above as he vanished into the darkness.

Her hearing buzzed, but she forced herself to move. She gritted her teeth, rolling off the car and collapsing beside it. Her right arm felt half-broken, her ribs throbbed with each breath, but she pushed herself up and leaned heavily against the wreck of a nearby limo.

Her legs trembled under her weight. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned.

Cameron(whispered, staggering forward):I must reach Morse before that maniac does… before it’s too late…

Every step was agony, but giving up was never an option.

______________________________________________

The rooftops loomed high above her now — unreachable. She limped through the narrow alleyways, one hand pressed tightly to her side, the other gripping her staff scepter on which she leaned on as she walked.Each breath was a struggle. Each corner could be the last.

But she kept going.

Cameron( hissed to herself):I’m not letting him touch Morse.

Images of Morse flashed in her mind — his stubbornness, his quiet humor, his absurd car, the way he always walked slightly ahead of the group like he was already calculating the next twenty steps.

And the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

She wouldn’t let him fall. Not tonight. Not ever.

She paused, leaning against a brick wall, sliding down into a crouch. She needed to think — fast. Genkei would go after Morse with the same calculated brutality he had used on her. She’d seen his tactics. He wouldn’t strike from the front. He’d wait for Morse to lower his guard — and then attack.

Cameron(under her breath, eyes darting toward a rusted fire escape.):I need to get to the lookout point...But I can't go Alone...I have to make it back to Jim. 

    She took her phone from one of her pockets and searched the tracking app; She found Jim's location...and turned out he was moving too to Morse's direction. She pocketed it back with a shaky hand.

Clenching her teeth, she pulled herself up the metal rungs one by one, pain lancing through her arm with each movement. But she made it to the rooftop. And then another. And another.

She was wounded, leaning for support on her staff, but her light wasn’t gone. She could still summon it. She could still fight.

She looked to the east, where the skyline dipped near the warehouse district.

Cameron:Please, let me make it in time.

And with that, she ran — one hand glowing faintly, a thin line of silvery-white light trailing behind her in the dark.

To be continued....

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Morse's POV:

Morse leaped gracefully from rooftop to rooftop, his boots barely making a sound on the cold stone and metal beneath him. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of distant fires. His breath came steady but quick, heart pounding beneath his armor as he scanned the surroundings.

Who was Genkei? Why did the name ring such an ominous bell? Where had Morse heard it before? What had happened between this stranger and the others — and what role did Peter play in all of this? The questions piled in Morse’s mind, swirling chaotically like leaves caught in a storm.There were so many questions, but so few answers. 

His thoughts were abruptly broken when he halted atop an old building. The structure was ancient, probably built in the 1940s. Its brick façade was worn and chipped, and it was currently undergoing renovation. Steel scaffolding wrapped around the sides like metallic vines, and piles of construction materials — cement bags, wooden planks, metal rods — were scattered across the rooftop.

The whole scene felt eerie, almost abandoned except for the faint creaks and groans of the scaffolding swaying gently in the night breeze.

A subtle sound snapped Morse out of his reverie — the scrape of a boot on gravel, light but deliberate. Instinctively, he drew his twin katanas with a fluid motion, the blades gleaming in the moonlight. His body tensed, ready for anything.

From behind the rooftop access hatch, a shadow moved with terrifying speed. Genkei appeared silently, landing with the grace of a predator just inches behind Morse. The katana blades caught the moon’s reflection — and in that gleaming surface, Morse saw the stranger’s face mirrored back at him.

Too late.

A strong hand clamped over Morse’s mouth, stifling any cry. Another arm pinned his torso and arms tightly against his chest. Morse struggled to twist free, kicking and writhing, but the grip was ironclad. He couldn’t strike, couldn’t defend.

The voice ( low and cold, almost a whisper but filled with menace.): Do you remember now?

The memory hit Morse like a bolt of lightning — that Halloween night, months ago, when he and Peter had encountered a strange figure lurking in the shadows. That weird, silent man who had followed them — Genkei.

Panic mixed with anger surged through Morse’s veins. He twisted harder, tried to break free, but Genkei’s hold was relentless.

Then, desperation sparked a plan.

With all his strength, Morse angled one katana upward, aiming for Genkei’s face. The attacker blinked, not fast enough to avoid a shallow scratch across his cheek. A sharp hiss escaped him.

Seizing the moment, Morse wrenched free, spinning backward and raising both katanas in a defensive stance. His breath came in sharp bursts, adrenaline flooding every fiber of his being.

Morse (eyes locked on his opponent.):You’re Genkei.You came that Halloween night and tried to grab me — just like now.

Genkei (smiled, a cruel, twisted grin.):Oh, your friend has competition for ‘smartest warrior.’ She’s quite the fighter — and a true leader.

Morse’s jaw clenched, his grip on his katanas stronger.

Morse(eyes narrowed):What did you do to her?

Genkei laughed, a sound void of humor, dark and unsettling.

Morse (shouted, fury burning bright.)WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!

Genkei( unsheating his naginata, blade shimmering under the moonlight):What I’ll do to you now.

Without warning, Genkei lunged forward. The fight erupted with a violent clash of steel and flesh.

Morse blocked and parried, his katanas striking with swift precision, aiming to disable or disarm. But Genkei was formidable — his forearms, protected by thick bracers, deflected each blow as if they were mere twigs. Genkei swung his naginata with precision, aiming at Morse's sides, but Morse managed to Dodge, flipping over Genkei and blocking the weapon, metal clashing with metal with a metalic sound that echoed from the force of the hits.

Morse: You won't get away with this; we will stop You, defeat You. 

Genkei( snarled):You think you’ll beat me? I’ve trained for 45 years! More years than you’ve been alive, You disrespectful brat!

Genkei pushed Morse back with overwhelming force.

A violent shove sent Morse skidding across the gravel, fighting to keep his footing. Pain blossomed in his ribs where the impact had landed.

Genkei (roared):Now let’s finish this!

 He charged again with the ferocity of a wild beast.

Morse met him head-on, blades blazing with fiery energy. He slashed and stabbed, weaving through Genkei’s defenses with all the skill and speed he had as the Fire Guardian. But Genkei caught the blades mid-air, wrenched them free from Morse’s grasp and tossed them aside like discarded toys. Genkei swung his naginata again, but Morse backflipped and landed crouched, the blade slashing the air.

Before Morse could stand up, a brutal front kick caught him in the stomach. The breath left his lungs in a harsh whoosh as he flew backward.

He crashed hard into the scaffolding, laying on his back on the wooden surface.

Metal groaned and twisted under the force of the impact.Planks snapped, bolts popped free, and the entire structure began to collapse with a deafening crash, and before Morse could even try to move, he felt himself falling along with the metal and wood parts. The time seemed to slow down for a moment, then slammed back in its own rythim as he hit the ground.

Dust and debris exploded into the air, trapping Morse under the fallen pieces of the structure.

He lay beneath the tangled mess of metal and wood, breath ragged, muscles trembling with pain.

His body ached, blood trickled from cuts on his forehead, cheeks and arms where the defenders from the forearms stopped, but his mind refused to surrender.

Somewhere in the distance, voices shouted — faint, yet urgent. Morse’s ears strained, but he couldn’t tell who called.

The noise was a beacon, a warning signal loud enough to alert allies — and perhaps, an unknown force drawn by the chaos.

Morse tried to push aside some rests from him with his remained strength and shaky hands, ignoring the fire licking through his ribs. He knew the battle wasn’t over — not by far. But he remained trapped, hands falling at vis sides.

  The Fire Guardian tried to stay awake, but he felt his eyes heavy and dizzy, and he slowly , despite his efforts, succumbed to unconsciousness.

     Genkei stood at the edge of the wreckage, breathing heavily, eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.

Genkei( muttered under his breath, a promise etched in venom.): One down, just one more to go. I have just to find him, and my mission will be completed.

The night was still young, and the battle was far from over.

To be continued.....

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

    As Cameron sprinted and jumped from rooftop to rooftop, with Jim behind her, his heavy boots clinking with loud thuds against the concrete. Her mind raced, putting the pieces back together: the disohonor, the feud, the threat from the letter; She understood what had happened then partialy, but enough. She thought of Morse, him being Alone with that jerk. Morse was a skilled fighter, but so was she, and She was stronger then her second in command,but that didn't stopped Genkei to defeat her.

     Cameron runned, but not like her life depended on it, but like Morse's did( and actually did).

Cameron and Jim arrived on the rooftop where the fight had taken place. The air still buzzed with residual energy. Shards of metal, splintered wood, and smoke lingered from the chaos that had unfolded only minutes earlier. Genkei stood with his back to the collapsed scaffolding, arms crossed, calm as if nothing had happened. A thin smirk played across his lips as he admired his handiwork, unfazed by the wreckage around him.

Cameron, bruised and sore from the fall and her earlier fight, hold her bo-staff , her knuckles turning white. She took up a defensive stance, determined, focused — her light brown-green eyes burning with fury. Beside her, Jim stood like a wall of muscle, armored gloves gleaming faintly under the moonlight. His stance was aggressive, fists clenched.

Jim called out, voice bouncing across the empty rooftop.

Jim: Hey, sharphead! Missed us?

Genkei (calmly, his voice like cold steel):You’re too late.You missed my battle with Morse. A shame. You might have learned something.

Cameron(voice trembled not with fear, but with rage barely contained):You’ll pay for that, you worthless scumbag!

Without further warning, she and Jim launched themselves at Genkei in a synchronized frontal attack. Cameron’s staff was a blur of light and motion, while Jim’s armored fists swung like sledgehammers.

Genkei blocked the first strike from Cameron with his forearm, but Jim was already there — a brutal punch slammed into his gut. Genkei gasped, vision blurring momentarily. Before he could recover, Cameron swept his legs and delivered two quick strikes to his ribs and shoulder, knocking him down hard onto the rooftop.

Jim turned to run toward the collapsed scaffolding, thinking Genkei was done — but the assassin wasn’t finished yet. With surprising strength, Genkei grabbed Jim’s ankle mid-run and yanked him down. Jim hit the concrete with a loud grunt, rolling to shield his head.

Genkei spun up and lunged at Cameron. She blocked the first few blows, her bo staff scepter spinning very fast, but he moved faster this time. A flick of his wrist revealed a small dagger. He aimed it straight at her chest.

Cameron’s eyes widened — she shifted her stance to deflect but knew she might be too slow.

Suddenly, a chain zipped through the air — fast and loud. A wooden stick at the end of it smacked the dagger from Genkei’s hand.

A voice (familiar,shouted from above):Remember me?

Peter Jakes landed in a crouch, his nunchaku chain recoiling like a snake.

He stood tall, spinning his nunchaku.

Peter( grinning):What, you thought I’d let you and Morse have all the fun?

Cameron(exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with both relief and surprise):Peter!

Before Genkei could recover, Peter yanked the chain again, pulling Genkei off balance, then spun in a full circle and slammed him into the concrete wall nearby. The impact cracked the plaster and sent dust into the air.

Genkei (growled, wiping blood from his lip): You idiot.

Peter( bouncing his nunchaks): What’s that?Couldn’t hear you over the sound of justice.

Jim (shouted suddenly, pointing):Watch out!

Genkei had already sprung back up and hurled a broken metal rod toward Peter’s chest. Peter dodged — barely — the rod scracthing the edge of his metallic blue-green chest plate.

Cameron:Jim, go after Morse!Peter and I will give this bastard a beating he’ll remember even in the afterlife!

Jim hesitated for a split second, glancing at Peter and Cameron — both in full combat mode. Then he nodded and took off, scanning the area.

Cameron and Peter launched into a fierce coordinated attack. Cameron struck high while Peter attacked low, forcing Genkei to split his defense. For the first time, Genkei looked genuinely pressured. His movements became more desperate, more erratic.

Cameron moved like a shadow, light on her feet but deadly. Her strikes were clean and precise. Peter, in contrast, was faster, trickier, using the reach of his nunchaks to catch Genkei off guard.

Genkei deflected a kick from Cameron and countered with a spin punch, but Peter intercepted with a swing of his nunchaku that hit Genkei’s knee.

Peter (mocking):Gettin’ old, huh?

Meanwhile, Jim had flown down to where Morse had fallen. He landed and started yanking of the debris and metal scraps.His heart clenched when he saw his friend — pale, surrounded by broken wood and debris.

Jim (shouted, yanking more frantic):Morse!

The sergeant groaned. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused.

Jim: I got you, mate. Hold on.

Jim gently lifted Morse’s trembling frame. The lightness of his body always startled Jim — like picking up a bundle of bones and nerves.

Morse (blinked, lips dry):Jim...?

Jim:Yeah. Gotcha.

Morse coughed, wincing, but then his hands ignited in a controlled blaze. His breathing steadied. With Jim’s support, he stood, legs trembling, cracked his neck, then summoned his wings — fiery, enormous, trailing embers as they unfurled. His eyes, normally cool light blue, now glowed with fierce orange fire.

Together, they rose to the rooftop.

Peter and Cameron had forced Genkei into a corner. He was bleeding now, panting. He raised his arms to block another attack — but then the air changed.

Everyone turned.

Morse hovered above them, eyes glowing. The wind shifted with the heat of his fire.

Cameron and Peter stepped back immediately, knowing what was coming.

Morse raised his arms. A blazing inferno burst from his palm — a thick beam of fire that rocketed across the rooftop and hit Genkei square in the chest. The blast was deafening.

Genkei screamed, flung back like a ragdoll.

In that moment, Cameron instinctively opened a portal with a sharp motion of her staff. The spinning Light blue vortex appeared just in time — Genkei fell through it, still ablaze, and vanished.

The portal closed a second later.

A strange silence fell over the rooftop.

Jim returned to the group, landing with a heavy thud. Morse landed shortly after, his fiery wings dissipating like sparks in the wind. His eyes dimmed, returning to their natural light blue. He swayed — then collapsed to his knees.

Jim caught him.

Jim( to Morse):You okay?

Morse (nodded weakly):Yes. Just... tired. And kind of bruised.

Peter walked over, clapping a hand on Morse’s shoulder. 

Peter:You two thought our Othello here would die that easily?

Cameron gave a small smile — the first in a while. 

Cameron:Let’s go home.

Peter (nodded):Sounds good. And hey — next time, invite me earlier.

A little later, Cameron opened a portal for Peter, who stepped in with a wink and vanished on his way back to America.

As the three remaining Guardians soared over the city of Oxford, the adrenaline began to wear off. Jim finally asked the question that had been nagging him.

Jim:What happened to Genkei?

Cameron’s voice was calm.

Cameron: Well, let's Say that I sent him back to his clan. I’m sure they’ll deal with him. If not... well, I’ll open another portal.

Morse didn’t speak. He was still recovering, but he glanced at Cameron with a look of gratitude.

The three flew silently over the quiet city. Below, the lights of Oxford glowed gently — warm, peaceful, unaware of the battle that had just taken place on its rooftops.

In the sky above, their silhouettes faded into the night.

And they never heard from Genkei again.

The End

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

New York City, 2012, 6 PM

     It was a peacefull evening in the lair of the teenage mutant ninja turtles. The four brothers were minding their own business: Leo was cross-legged on the floor, watching a Space Heroes episode, glued to the screen and sometimes quoting Captain Ryan; Raph was feeding Spike some lettuce leaves and watching Space Heroes with Leo( Raph didn't mind the show, actually liked it a bit, but he will never admit that); Donnie was in his lab, working on a new project of his, the soft humming of machines being hidden by the big heavy closed doors; Mikey was in the kitchen, preparing one of his ,,special" pizzas( anchovy, wasabi, jellybeans, marshmallows, chocolate syrup..and other some dubious ingredients), singing loud and off-key a song he made on place; and Master Splinter was in his room, meditating, enjoying every moment of that fragile peace ( because in a household with four loud and riot teenager boys, peace was rare).

       As The credits rolled on the small and old TV, Leo crawled to the VHS boox next to the TV and started searching another VHS tape with another Space Heroes episode.

Raph( from the couch): Yo Fearless, ya ain't got bored from watching this? I mean, C'mon, it's the 6th time Ya watch this episode.

Leo( not looking up, searching): It's actually the 4th time, and no, I didn't get bored ,and Captain Ryan 's tactics are very well!

Raph( snorted): If ya Say so...( turning to Spike). What d'ya think, Spike? Ain't It borin'?

Leo( looking deadpean at Raph): Seriously? You are asking your pet?

Spike chewed a lettuce leave.

Raph: See, even Spike agrees with me the show it's borin'.

Leo( raising an ,,eyebrow", a small smirk tugging at a corner of his mouth): Then why do You watch the show with me?

   Raph's mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again, to respond , but the Red banded turtle didn't have the chance because an awful smell emerged from the kitchen straight in the main area. The smell was so awful, it hit Raph's nose like a freight train . Leo wasn't far from him: the stinck hit him so bad that he gagged.

      Mikey slid down from the kitchen, holding up in one hand a tray with...something that belonged to a nightmare.

( from the kitchen, singing): 🎶Yo, Mikester's here, ready to serve You the Best pizza from--

Raph( pointing an index finger toward the plate): What ...the shell is that?

Mikey( lowering the plate to everybody to see the pizza): My Salty-Sweet Combo Pizza, bros! 

        The smell became worse; the pizza looked worse. Raph yelped and nearly fell of the couch; Leo took one look, then slapped both his hands over his mouth to not throw up.

        Suddenly, the lab's doors slammed open, and Donnie sprinted from there, holding a small, round device in this hands.

Donnie: Guys, I cracked the code! I found out that this is a--( the smell hit him; he stopped in his place, his brownish-reddish eyes wide). What is this SMELL?!

Mikey( holding the plate to his brothers): Do You want some?

The older three brothers nodded in disagrement.

Mikey: Well, more for me then!( He dig in the pizza).

    His brothers groaned and Donnie muttered Something about Mikey's pizza being bioweapons when Leo spotted the device in Donnie's hands.

Leo( pointing to the device): Donnie, what is that doing?

Donnie( extending a hand, the device on his palm): This a Kraang teleportation device to Dimension X. I re-engineered it so we can travel not only there, but around some other places across the New York City! 

Mikey( wipping his mouth with The back of his hand): Oh, it's sounds cool! Can I touch it?

Donnie: Mikey, no. Everytime you handle my inventions, they malfunction or backfire.

Mikey: C'mon, D! Just this time!Please!

Donnie: No.

    But Mikey was undereted. When Donnie, Leo and Raph didn't pay attention, Mikey snuck the device from his brother's hands.

Mikey: Oh, looks good, bro!

Donnie( eyes wide, lunging for Mikey): Mikey, give it back!

    The Orange banded turtle dodged and Donnie missed, but Leo and Raph tackled him and tried to take the device from his hands. When Raph managed to reach it, Mikey pressed accidentaly some buttons, and the device's screen lit up bright Pink.

Donnie( from the floor): WHAT DID YOU DO?!

Mikey(panicking): It was an accident,I swear!

      The turtles watched with wide eyes as The device levitated and projected a Bright Pink triunghiular portal under them, on the floor. The turtles didn't even had time to blink as they fell. They screamed, and before the portal closed, the device fell into it.

______________________________________________

Oxford, England, 2012, 11 PM.( Before Peter Jakes' leave in USA)

       The navy blue Sky was even darker then usual as heavy clouds covered it, the moonlight barely reaching the City Below. The wind that blew till then stopped, a sign that a storm was coming.

       Morse and Cameron were walking down the Albert Street after their night patrol was eventless and the clouds started to come. The Street was Empty, they two being the only awake souls in the Darkness that moved under the light of the lamposts, their Ginger-coppery hair reflecting under it.They knew a heavy rain will come, so Cameron called it a night and She, Morse and Jim went back home: Jim Alone, and the two Detective Sergeants together. They had dismissed their armours, remaining in their usuall clothes: Morse in navy blue straight jeans, a Light blue Button up shirt, black shoes and his military Green long trench coat, and a backpack on one shoulder with folders; Cameron in black flared jeans, white sneakers, a red long sleeved shirt with a black polo t-shirts over it, her dark green flared trench coat and her navy blue backpack slung over one shoulder. They walked side by side with fast steps before the rain starts. 

Cameron( looking at the Sky): I hope it doesn't rain before we arrive home.I don't have my umbrella; I forgot it at work.

Morse: Speaking of forgeting...I...I forgot my flat's keys at work..

Cameron( raising an eyebrow): You did? 

Morse: Yes, I mean, I left Inspector Thursday at his home, then Jim called me to come fix his computer. And after I managed it, it was already the patrol time, so I didn't go back to the Cowley Station House to retrieve my keys...and I left my car at my place..

Cameron( amused, shaking her head): In this case, You have to crash somewhere over night. How about my flat? It's close to yours, and You'd have enough time to arrive at work on time. (Smiles) Plus, You have some old but in good condition work clothes at my place after I borrowed them for my impersonation.

Morse( blushes): Your place?

Cameron: Yeah, my flat. You have come there like plenty of times for the movie night or for solving cases.

Morse: Well, I--( he shrugges) I will. It's not like the first time, right? And I stayed over night at your flat enough Times during the movie nights.

Cameron: Good. But we should hurry or the rain will catch us( She slipped her arm through his, holding gently onto his forearm.)

Morse blushed harder, but he remained like that, his Pink cheekbones hidden by the Darkness and the small amount of Light.

    Morse panicked a bit. He was right with that he remained at her place over night; but it was during movie nights, where there were Peter, him, Cameron, Dr. Julia Ogden, Jim after he started his career in police force, and sometimes Dr. Emily Grace, Dr. Julia Ogden's morgue assitant; and they didn't always remain over night, just Morse, Jim and Peter, , sometimes all three, sometimes just two;but just him and Cameron? That was new. And as much as it frightened him, Morse still liked the idea. He loved her; but She also was his Best friend since forever and leader; what If he screwed the things up? What If their Bond broke because one of his mistakes?

      She observed he was lost in his thoughts; he saw him like this enough times to know that his thoughts were swirling in his mind, but She didn't bother him, so they continued their walk in silence.

______________________________________________

      A Pink triunghiular portal opened at the rooftops level, and four mutant turtles fell, screaming, on the cold concrete pavement of a dark alley. They landed on a pile of tangled limbs and shells. 

Raph( standing up, groaning):Ugh, where the shell are we?

Donnie( standing up, dusting his knee pads): It's pretty dark but...this doesn't look like New York City.

Leo( already up, adjusting his katanas): This place feels weird... Are we still anymore on United States?

Mikey ( smiling nervously): At least we are on Earth...

Thwack!

Raph slaps Mikey's back of head.

Mikey: Ow, dude!

Raph: We're here cuz of ya, Mikey. If ya wouldn't play with Donnie's gizmo, we'd be home, not in this weird place!

Leo: Raph, cool off. Now it's not the time to argue with Mikey. And You( pointing at Mikey), when we are back home, we'll have a serious conversation about why You should not touch things that You don't understand and that can be dangerous.

Raph muttered Something under his breath and crossed his arms, but didn't fight back.

Leo: This place it's definetly not our City; we should check the sorroundings, and maybe we'll Discover where are we.

Donnie( holding a device that looked like a remote control with two small antenas and his T-phone): Guys...I don't think were even in United States anymore.

Raph( raising an ,,eyebrow"): What d'ya mean?

Donnie: I mean, I used my GPS main tracker and the T-phone for signal and it says we're in Oxford, England.

Leo(sapphire blue eyes wide, jaw dropped): What?!

Raph( flailing his arms): Donnie, this is like on the other part of the world! Ya gotta fix this, Man!

Donnie: We don't have the Kraang teleportation device anymore; it fell with us in the portal, but arrived in a Different location. Without it, we're stuck here, in England.

Leo( leader voice): Okay, so we have a mission then: to find the device and go back home.

Raph: Yeah, but, we don't know where it is. It can be anywhere.

Mikey: What If we use Donnie's GPS main tracker to find it? Doesn't it have some chipe or something?

     His brothers looked at him dumbfounded.

Raph: This...is actually a good idea.

Mikey( smug): Yeah, I'm not just a pretty face, y'know.

Raph( smirking): Pretty like an old sock, sure.

Mikey: Hey!

______________________________________________

            Morse and Cameron were walking when they Heard shouting and loud voices; four voices, exactly. They stopped in their places, and listened carefully.

#1 Voice: No, no, no!

#2 Voice: Donnie, what happened?

#1 Voice: The GPS main tracker's battery is at 0%! 

Cameron and Morse moved silently and pressed themselves against the wall of the building that edged the alley, taking a look in the alley. Three short and robust silouettes and one average and thin silouette were visible in the Darkness. 

Morse( whispered to Cameron): Who do You think are them?

Cameron(Light brown-green eyes squinting): I'm not sure. They are too short to be Master of Darkness' soldiers or some thieves from the Golden Snakes. Hm....

Morse: What?

Cameron: It's just me or they sound like...

Morse: Boy teenagers?

Cameron: Yeah!

     They remained hidden against the wall, as the two Guardians listened to the four beings.

#3 Voice: So Ya're sayin' that we have no way to find the damn device since yer tracker has no battery an' have no place to charge it?

#1 Voice: I don't have where to charge the tracker, Raph! We're trapped across the ocean, far away from home and any ally, in a dark alley with no energy source! 

#2 Voice: We need to find a place to hide, guys. Rain's coming, and I'm sure it's not a simple, couple-of-drops rain.

       As of cue, a thunder cracked and spread across the dark Sky, booming with The fury of a sledgehammer.

     The thunder's Light flashed for a short time, but enough to reveal four mutant turtles, one with an Orange bandana yelping and jumping into the blue-banded one's arms.

Morse looked stunned, while Cameron wasn't impressed at all.

Cameron:Morse, summon your katanas. We're going in.

Morse: Are You sure?

Cameron( summoning her bo staff scepter of Light,): I am.

     Morse summoned in a flash of fire his twin katanas and gripped them tightly, as he followed slowly his leader. They creept to the alley, now fully seeing the turtles.

      Another thunder cracked and Light up the alley, and Leo saw the two humans.

Leo( unsheated his katanas at lighting speed, turned around, facing Cameron and Morse): Guys, we have company!

     One by one, Raph, Donnie and Mikey unsheated their weapons, the brothers taking fight stances.

Leo( to Cameron and Morse): Who are You and what are You doing here?

Cameron: We can ask You the same thing, maybe start a fight, but my friend and I don't want this. We came here in peace.

Leo: Peace, You Say?

Cameron: Yes. 

Raph: And how's that ya two ain't scared of us? We're giant mutant turtles that talk, walk an' are ninjas that kick butts; humans usually, Y'know, scream an' run when see us.

Morse: Well, we aren't exactly humans..not fully.

Donnie( lowering his bo staff): What do You mean? You are mutants, too?

Morse: We...My friend and I are human- elf hybrids. We can prove it.

Donnie( tapping his chin): Hybrids, You Say?

Morse: Yes. ( To the Light Guardian)Cameron..

She nodded.

          The two officers took a couple of steps back, then summoned their Wings, fire and Light spreading and taking ; fire and white rays emerged from thier palms like tendrils and the turtles watched in awe.

Cameron( dismissing her Wings and the rays): Now You believe us?

Mikey( baby blue eyes sparkling): THAT WAS AMAZING! Are You two superheroes from a fantasy world?

Morse: We're the protectors of Oxford and police officers. I'm Morse, She is Cameron Grey. And a few people know about our hidden nature, and we...hide all supernatural, mystical and mutant elements from humans.

Mikey: That's cool! We do the same thing in our city: we protect New York City from the Foot Clan, Shredder, Kraang and other evil mutants!

        A thunder cracked and boomed even harder, starting everybody. A cold wind started to blow, biting the skin of the turtles.

Leo: We should find a place and quick, because the storm is coming.

Cameron: How about If You come at my flat?

    The turtles looked at her; then Raph looked at Leo, who really considered this.

Raph( bandana tails fluttering in the wind): Ya're not really considerin' this, aren't ya, Fearless?

Leo( bandana tails also fluttering in the wind): What choice do he have? The storm is coming, and he no place where to hide.

Raph: But we barely know them!

Leo: And we have to trust them. You saw what they are. If they really wanted to kill us, they would have tried it already.

Raph: Fine.

Cameron: Guess You come with us then.

______________________________________________

           Morse and the turtles hurried as they followed Cameron down the streets.

          The wind intensified, cold bitting even more and sharper.

Leo: How much do we have?

Cameron: At the End of this Street we take right, arrive in a parking lot edged by blocks, then go straight for the block with the rose Garden , climd to the second floor and we're at my home.

Donnie(walking): We kind of have a problem.

Cameron: What problem?

Donnie: How are we supposed to follow You in without being spotted by humans? Your building has no fire-exit stairs to climb on.

     She said nothing, but thought about a way. As they walked, thunders cracked even more, making Mikey whimper sometimes. When they reached the park lot, She stopped. They froze on their places.

Cameron: Maybe...do You see the balconies, and the one from the second floor?(She pointed to her flat's balcony).

Leo: Yes...Do You suggest us to climb the balconies till we reach Your flat?

Cameron: Yes, I do. Morse and I will go first to enter the flat and the balcony door. Then You come when we wave at You. Okay?

     The turtles nodded( and Raph rolled his eyes), and Morse and Cameron sprinted to the block.

      Soon after the Guardians entered, light rain drops started to fall over them, running across turtles' shells, arms and legs, soaking their bandanas.

Raph: What were ya thinkin' of, Leo? What If She an' her broodin' friend leave us in the rain? What If it's a trap? Did he said they're coppers?

Leo: I was thinking right, Raph. If She really wanted to capture us, then She would have done it already.

Mikey( to Donnie, whispered): Should we do something?

     Before Donnie could open his mouth to respond, a Voice shouted and all four turned: Cameron was on the balcony, gripping the railings with one hand and waving with The other, while Morse hold open the door.

Leo( to Raph): What were You saying?

Raph growled and followed Leo, Mikey and Donnie as they sprinted in the rain, the cold water soaking them from head to toe. They arrived at the block, jumped , climbed the railings until they arrived at her balcony. They entered quickly, Cameron last, and Morse closed the door just when the actuall storm started.

     To be continued.....

Chapter Text

   Chapter 2 

 As heavy and cold water rain drops hit with fury the Windows of the flat, the four turtles stood in the living room, dripping water that formed puddles under their feet on the floor. Mikey and Donnie trembled; Leo tried to keep his composure, but his clinking teeth betrayed him; and Raph sniffed and pretended it didn't happened.

Cameron stood in front of them, hands on her hips.

Cameron: You are soaked to your bones.

Raph( cross-armed): We're fine.

Cameron: No, You aren't. You are all literally two steps away from a cold or a pneumonya. Aannd, You're literally dripping water that soaks my floor. So I'm not letting You like this.

Mikey( chuckled): Dudette, Raph can be dying and he will still Say ,,I'm fine".

Raph glared at his youngest brother, and Mikey smiled weakly.

    She walked away and vanished for a few minutes before returning with four large towels from the bathroom: one green, one blue, one pink and one yellow.

Morse(sitting on the arm of the sofa): Come on, take the towels. She doesn't bite.

Raph( under his breath): Now..( Leo elbows him). Hey!

Leo: Just take a towel. 

       One by one, they took a towel wrapped it around themselves: Leo the Green one, Donnie the blue one, Mikey the yellow one...and Raph the Pink one.

Raph( with The towel around his shoulders): Seriously, Pink?

Cameron: I hate Pink too. But If it matters, this îs the only Pink thing in this flat, except from some of my pencils that I use in my sketches.

Mikey: Like, drawing-drawing?

Cameron( smiling): Yes, and for my engineering sketches.

Donnie: Wait, You're an engineer?

Cameron: Yes. And Morse here is one too.

Mikey( bouncing on his heels): Oh, can I see your drawings? And Donnie your sketches?

Leo: Mikey, I'm not sure about this level of...curiosity.We are guests here.

     Morse shifted his weight on the sofa's arm, chuckled, took a cigarette from the packet from his coat's pockets and lit it up with a flame on his index finger tip. He took a long drag and exhaled, the smoke curling around him.

      Cameron looked at Morse's unreadable expression, then at Mikey's puppy eyes, Donnie's curios eyes and at Leo's serious expression.

Cameron (sighs): Tomorrow, okay? Now You need to dry.

Raph: Well, we're leavin' immeadiately. We ain't gonna be trapped in this fancy college city--

 BOOM! Tap-tap-tap

         A thunder cracked outside, followed by big, cold and heavy rain drops falling with a high speed and hitting the windows with no mercy.

Morse: Well, If You don't want to fight and lose the battle with Mother Nature's wrath from the outside, I suggest You to stay here.

    Raph looked at Donnie. The purple banded turtle was searching something on his T-phone, clearly very interested.

Donnie: The Weather App says that is code red of precipitations since till tomorrow at 7 AM UK hour, with strong aversions, wind blowing at 43,49 mph, and-

Mikey( raising a hand): So, we stay here over night?

Donnie: Shortly, yes.

Raph walked and flopped on the couch with The pink towel around his shoulders, arms crossed, muttering ,,sewer apples".

Mikey: Do You know what this means? 

Leo( already knowing what his youngest brother would say): Mikey-

Mikey( jumping on her table, arms up, towel falling): PAJAMAS PARTY, DUDES!

Leo( pinching the bridge of his nose): Mikey, we have a mission tomorrow, we are guests here and-- Get down from the table!

     The Orange banded turtle jumped from the table and sat on the floor, pouting.

Cameron(eyeing the turtles): Well, I told You our names, but I don't know yours.

Leo:So...I am Leonardo and the leader.He( pointing at Donnie) is Donatello and our genius inventor; there( pointing to Raph) is Raphael, the Muscle of our team-

Mikey: And I am Michelangelo, the party dude! But You can call me Mikey!

Cameron: Well, nice to know You better. Now, we need to plan who sleeps where because my apartment has only one bedroom.

Mikey: I call dibs on the couch!

Cameron: No dibs. We do it properly. So, the sleeping spots would be the couch, the armchair, maybe the bathtub, and the floor in the living room.So, now, we need to place everybody. ( Tapping her chin, eyes squinting).. Hm...maybe Mikey and Raphael-

Raph: Nope. First, Raph, not Raphael; feels to formal. Second, Mikey'll pester me, an' we'll end doin' WWE an' breakin' somethin'.

Cameron: So no Raph and Mikey, good.

Morse: How about I take the bathtub?

Cameron: If You take the tub, then Raph can take the armchair, Donatello the couch since he's the tallest and needs the most leg space, and Leonardo and Mikey can take the floor, and nobody will bicker!

Leo: Sounds good.

Cameron: So be it. I'll go after pillows and blankets and be right back.

      Cameron turned and headed to her bedroom to grab the items, while the turtles made themselves confortable. Morse put out the cigarette, and when Cameron returned with the blankets and pillows and the clothes he forgot at her place, he took them, surprised to see that he forgot also a white tank top and some gray joggers, saluted her and went straight to the bathroom, the door closing behind him.

Donnie( holding the GPS main tracker): Do You have Socket in the living room?

Cameron: next to the bookshelf.

Donnie:Thanks!( He plugged in the device to charge)

Cameron( putting down the blankets and pillows): Alright. Now, I'm going to sleep. See You in the morning, night!

The turtles greeted her ,,good night" and slumped, drifting to sleep...

______________________________________________

      Around 2 AM, the flat was peacefull and quiet, only Raph's snoring and the storm outside breaking it sometines. It was the kind of hour when even the ghosts sleeped, but one turtle's stomach didn't agreed with that.

      Mikey laid back on his Shell, staring at the ceiling when his stomach let an ungoldly sound: a rumble like a chainsaw.

Mikey( to himself, whispered): Man, I'm hungry. My stomach's starting a revolution! Does Cameron have pizza in her fridge?

       The freckled turtle looked left and right, then slowly, with all his ninja stealth, he got up and tip-toed past his eldest brother's sleeping form, the table where their T-phones were discarded along with their weapons,down the hallway and entered the kitchen.

        Cameron's kitchen was a small, huddled room. The cupboards were all pale yellow; the walls were white, and the kitchen counters from both the island and the rest where white with grey veins. Mikey spoted the kitchen, and silently and slowly, he opened the door.

Mikey( looking on): Hm..Let's see what You've got: lettuce, tomatoes, beans, peppers,cheese, steak.... No,no ,no! Where's the pizza?! Oh, chocolate candies! ( He snachted the bag , closed the door and leaned against the fridge, sitting on the floor, happily muching chocolate candies.)

       He was so focused on the candies that he didn't observed or felt the person that sneaked in there too.

The person: Ahem. What are You doing?

    Mikey, startled, spit a candy in the trash can and jumped nearly three feet in the air.

     Morse stood at the kitchen entrance, dressed in a white tank top and gray joggers, his hair a mess of curls and waves, arms crossed. His blue eyes stared at the freckled turtle like trying to read his soul.

Mikey: Uh, funny story, I..Uh...The candies called me!

Morse(raising an eyebrow): Cameron's chocolate candies called You...from the fridge...at 2 AM?

Mikey nodded.

Morse( pinching the bridge of his nose): You're stealing her food, Michelangelo!

Mikey: I'm borrowing it! Scout's honour!

Morse( deadpean): You are not a scout. You are a 14 years old teenage mutant ninja turtle that lives in New York City's sewers and robs my best friend's fridge! 

Mikey: I'm 16!..soon.

Morse: Go back to bed. Now. And put back the candies.

Mikey( putting the candies back in the fridge,backing away, hands up):Sheesh! No need to go full detective on me, y'know.

Morse: Go!

   Mikey quickly walked past Morse and back to the living room. The Fire Guardian sighed, and walked back to the bathroom. 

     When the Detective Sergeant shifted in the tub under his blanket, feeling the sleep coming in, the bathroom's door creaked open. Morse raised his Head and saw Mikey's Head popping in.

Mikey: Quick question: Is Cameron You're Best friend- Best friend, or Best friend-girl friend?

Morse's right eye twiched.

Morse( Voice low, dangerous): Michelangelo..

Mikey( gulped): Yes?

Morse: It's 2 in the bloody morning. I'm tired. I have work tomorrow at my station house in Cowley.(Pauses). If You don't go back to sleep in the next five seconds, I WILL set your nunchucks on fire and program your phone to play Wagner on loop.

Mikey( gasps): You wouldn't!

Morse(smirks): Try me. Five..

Mikey: You-

Morse: Four.

      The Orange banded turtle vanished in a blink of an eye, the door closing behind with a small thud. Morse smirked, then flopped back on the pillow and fell asleep.

To be continued....

Chapter Text

     Chapter 3 

      The Air was heavy and damp, the smell of rain still lingering from the last night's storm. The Sky was a medium blue and pretty clean , a few pinkish clouds discarded like broken glass. The moon slowly descended as The sun climbed back, ready to announce the start of a new day. Water occasionally dripped from the edges of the buildings or gutters, and big puddles were spread across the ground in varioud and random places.

     In the warm and confortable flat, the four turtles were still passed out on the living room, curled under the blankets and pillows, and wearing their gear.

    Meanwhile, in the bathroom, as Morse nested even more on the fuzzy and warm blanket Cameron gave him, his hand watch's alarm ringed at precisely 6:30 AM, signaling him to wake up. He groaned, rolled over and stopped the alarm.

    Morse sit on the edge of the bathtub, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He didn't caught up too much sleep last night, and he wanted so much to sleep, at least a bit more; but he had to prepare himself and go to work.

    Forcing himself to wake up and snap out sleepines, he splashed some cold water on his face, brushed his teeth as well as he could with toothpaste on his washed hands, and started to dress up for work. He folded nearly his pajamas, and carefully to not wake up the entire flat, he put on the black old suit, the red slim tie , the white Button up shirt and his black shoes, nearly losing his Balance and falling. He ran a hand through his curled Ginger-coppery hair, took the clothes and all his things and left the bathroom.

       Morse tip-toed and put on his military Green long trench coat, and couldn't help, but take a look at the four sleeping forms sprawled across the living room. Leo was curled up on a blanket and the other covering him, looking peacefully and not like a stressed leader; Mikey was half-sleeping on Leo, the Orange banded's Head and one arm on his eldest Shell, legs sprawled and half out the shared blanket; Donnie was on his side, one arm over the couch edge; and Raph frowned even in his sleep, arms crossed and legs dangling over the armchair's arm.

       The blond Man looked at his watch: 7:00 AM. He Heard the sound of furniture creaking in Cameron's bedroom, and he quickly took his backpack( and Mikey's T-phone that was in the lateral pocket and Morse didn't observed) and left, closing the door behind him with no sound.

______________________________________________

         Quarter an hour later, Cameron was already on her way to her station house, driving her black E-class Mercedes and humming ,,Not Afraid" by Eminem. She woke up surprinsingly cheerful, and her clothes reflected it: Light blue wide leg jeans, white sneakers, Green t-shirt and a medium blue denim jacket, while her short hair was in a messy bun and her backpack rested on the back row. And at the same time when She left her flat, her blankets weere folded neatly and the pillows over on the couch, and her four Green guests thanked her and left through the balcony , getting down by the railings. Mikey even waved her.

      So, She didn't have reasons to be upset. But her Best friend won't be so lucky.

_____________________________________________

       As Morse drove his silver DeLorean down the Broad Street, Detective Inspector Fred Thursday couldn't not observe his bagman's dishelved hair and tired eyes with subtle dark circles under.

Fred : Morse, lad, did You slept the last night?

Morse( eyes on the road): Mmm, yes, sir.

Fred( deadpean): You didn't. And don't try to lie to me, son. Your half-asleep expression says everything. You had a tough night patrol again, didn't You?

Morse: No, just...I arrived home lately. Barely missed the storm.

Fred: One day, this double life will send You to a long sleep wherever will be.

Morse( short glance at his boss): And until then, I will be awake and fighting because I have enough time to sleep after I die.

Fred( muttering under his breath): Stubborn..

Morse smirked.

           Soon enough, they arrived at the Cowley Station House, and after Morse parked the car, they entered the precinct headed to their offices, ready for whatever that work day planned for them.....

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         The sun cascaded warm golden rays on the streets of the Oxford. Students, teachers and residents walked down the streets, the city humming of chatter and laughs; cars' engines pourred like cats on the roads; and birds occasionally flew above the buildings, like small dark points lost in an ocean.

        As the everyday life of the city hummed on the streets, the four ninja brothers jumped and moved like shadows across the rooftops and dark alleys. Donnie, with his now charged GPS tracker leading the way along with Leo, Raph grunting and Mikey the last, stealing glances at the monuments and historical buildings.

Raph: How much do we have till the device, Donnie?

Donnie( looking at the screen of the tracker): We are 12 streets away from the location of the teleportation device; after the 12th one, we turn right and we're there.

Leo: But we need to be carefull. It's day time, we don't know this city and we don't have the night's darkness cover, so we need to keep a very low profile, or the humans will see us.

Raph( rolling his eyes): Yeah, yeah, we know this, Fearless.Don't ya have to remind us everyday, y'know.

Leo( turning to Raph): I do, because there are plenty of cases when I told You, and You forgot of ignored: Pulverizer, that Man that recorded us-

Raph( throwing hands up): I get it! No need for lessons!

         The leader in blue ignored the last comment and moved on first, and signaled his brothers to stop at the edge of the rooftop. He crouched down and looked below: a large Street full of people, cars honking sometimes ,clearly not a safe-zone for them to pass unnoticed.

         While the older turtles taught and talked about what way to take to find the device, the Orange banded turtle wandered on the rooftop, flailing his arms in boredom. In one point, Mikey stood and layed down on the concrete floor, hands at his chest, fingers fidgening. Seeing that his Brothers were now debating loudly( aka, Raph and Leo arguing), Mikey reached in his Belt for his T-phone...only to not find it. His baby blue eyes widened and he stood up, searching with more panic.

Mikey( internally): No,no,no! Where's my phone?! Dude, where....No way..

Mikey(jumping on his feet, shouting):GUYS!

         All three brothers, Raph and Leo face tot face and Donnie ready to intervene, turned to the freckled turtle.

Raph(deadpean): What?

Mikey(gripping Raph by the shoulders): Morse took my T-phone, dude!

Raph( shoving Mikey): He did what?

Mikey: He took my phone that I left in his backpack!

Donnie: Why would You put your phone in his backpack?!

Mikey(cross-armed): To keep it warm and dry it off from the rain, duh.

Raph (smacked Mikey, pointing an accusing index finger at the youngest): Only ya could've done somethin' like this!

Leo( stepping on): Everybody cool down. Mikey, listen. We know where Cameron's flat is. We can return at her place after we find the teleportation device and ask her about your phone and Morse; and she'll call Morse and I am pretty sure he will give You your phone back. Alright?(He puts a hand on Mikey's shoulder).

Mikey(sighs):...Okay.

Leo: Good. Now, we will go down the King's Street, down the long gangue and the Bayne passage. Understood?

All nodded,(and Raph grunted; but Leo pretended to not hear it) and sprinted down the new route.

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           The station house buzzled with chatter and the occasional cheers and whistels of the police officers that huddled at Peter Jakes' office desk to watch the football match on the small Ancient TV of the station house. That day, the Cowley football team was in match with Manchester's team, and almost everybody was watching it. Almost.

           Ignoring the constant noise, Morse was at his desk, so focused that his eyes looked like could Make holes in the papers from his hand. He took one look at his colleagues who cheered again and sighed. And just as he put the papers down, Fred Thursday walked and stopped at his desk, hat in one hand, a wrapped sandwich in the other.

Fred: Can't focus from the match?

Morse( muttering, rubbing temples): They keep yelling like they're on an actual stadion, sir.

Fred(looking at his wrist watch): Well, the lunch break starts soon enough. You come with me at the pub, maybe drink a pint?

Morse: I can't, sir. I..I have to finish writing some reports.

Fred( sighs): Fine. I'll ask Jakes then. See You soon.( he walks away from the office).

       As his boss walked away and another round of enthusiastic yelling erupted, Morse let his head drop onto the desk, groaning and thinking NOT to Set the TV on fire...

______________________________________________

         The gangue the turtles passed was like an infinite dark and empty hallway. The tall old buildings that edged it had new facades, beige and clean.

           Leo and Donnie lead the way, Raph surveing the area and Mikey the last, his mind still at his T-phone.  

          It wasn't the first time he lost his phone; he didn't even knew how many phones have he had before this one, because along the years: 

-he had burned it while cooking

-cracked it while skateboarding 

-smashed during missions, patrols and avoiding ( and eventually getting smacked) by Raph

            So it wasn't the first time. But Mikey's problem was different...he taught. He NEEDED his T-phone. The freckled turtle just needed an opportunity...that came unusually fast.

         Just as they made it past the gangue, Mikey saw the back door of the Cowley Station House opening and saw his chance. He knew that Morse worked there. He knew that the building was the station house Morse worked at. And then, bless his chaotic soul, the Orange banded turtle had an idea. THE idea. 

          When none of his brothers payed attention to him, Mikey pulled from the closest clotheslins the clothes he could find, a long, big and large orange hoodie with a cat on it( ironic?) and yellow knee-high rain boots( ??), put them on as fast as he could....and sprinted from his Brothers like his Shell was on fire toward the door.

And his brothers IMMEADIATELY noticed and went after him to stop him.

Leo( yelling): Mikey, no!

Donnie( hot on his heels): That's a human police precinct!

Raph( also yelling): Mikey, ya gremlin, come back here!   

        But before they could catch their Little Brother, the youngest turtle was already in the station house, the back door slamming behind him. Raph marched and stopped at the door, ready to kick it down out of its hinges, but Donnie and Leo tackled him.

Raph(trashing): I'm gonna beat the Green outta the goofball!

Leo: We can't burst in the station like this, Raph! We're mutant turtles and there are armed human police officers. We need a plan!

Donnie(to Leo): And fast! We're talking about Mikey undercover here!

Raph( stopped trashing, arms crossed): We're doomed.

 To be continued.....

Chapter Text

      Chapter 4

   Morse was a pretty patient person when he wanted. But with The yelling few feet away from him? Fire was boiling in his veins( both literally and metaphorically). And just as he leaned in his chiar, counting to ten...

Jenkins: GO, GO BANKOLE!

Jim: COME ON, KIRWAN! 

      Morse abruptly stood up, the chair clattering behind him. Nobody observed this, and neither when he took his trench coat from the back of his chair and his backpack, heading to the small room with The video-projector they used for cases sometimes to smoke a cigarette and not lose his mind. 

       Mikey, meanwhile, in his hoodie that was long like a dress and swallowed his hands, and hood over his head, was flattened against the wall, looking for Morse. And he spotted him exactly when he saw a petite brunette woman closed to the Detective Sergeant; a smiling and elegant woman with a baby Pink dress, a pretty Light blue trench coat and chic Light Brown ankle boots. The Orange banded turtle closed the distance but stood hidden, listening and watching the two.

Joan: Hello, Morse!

Morse( startled, nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to her): Miss Thursday! What brings You here?

Joan(a pair of keys hanging by her index finger): Well, Dad forgot his house keys and Mom told me to go here at the station and give him them. Do You know were he is?

Morse( scratching the back of his Head): He just left to the pub with Detective Constable Jakes for the lunch break. Eagle and Child, If I remember right.

Joan: Okay. But before I leave, I have a question for You.

Morse(cheeks blushing a faint shade of Pink): Y-yes?

Joan( adjunsting the collar of his Button up shirt): Why do You look like a sleep-deprived zombie?

         In his hidding spot, Mikey's baby blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

Mikey( internally): Dude! Does She love him? Are they together?! No way...and Cameron? Sheeh....Popcorn would have worked so good now..

          Back to Morse and Joan:

Joan( arms crossed): Well?

Morse: Um, work. You know my drill: work and always work. If I don't solve the cases and help your father, then who's gonna do it?

Joan: You need to live a Little. Seriously, You're serious and work-focused like all the time and sometimes You need to relax.. 

Morse(leaning against the wall, trying to play it cool): But I relax. In my free time, I listen opera or complete crosswords or Make some sketches for some inventions.

Joan: If You Say so...(She looks at the watch on the wall). I should leave now. My break is soon ending and I didn't give Dad the keys. And If I'm late at the Bank again, the director will be mad.

Morse: Ugh, sure, go. See You...soon.

Joan: Bye.

           She turned and walked to the front door, brushing her hand on Morse's left hand as She walked, her black curls bouncing. The Detective Sergeant blushed and entered the small room with no word. 

          Mikey saw her approaching and his heart raced, panicked. What If She saw that he's a mutant turtle? He knew She'd lose her mind, scream and the policemen from there would catch him and then...

Joan: Hi?

      The freckled turtle turned so fast that he almost tripped and fell face-first on the floor.

Mikey: Hi?

Joan: Are You lost kid?

Mikey( sweating bullets under his hoodie):N-no! Just...waiting. Uh..officer Morse! 

Joan( raising an eyebrow): If he called You for his case, then You have to wait because He's still in break.

Mikey: Uh, sure, yes.

Joan: Be good, okay?( She patted his Head and walked away, her heels making a rythmic sound as She walked).

         The freckled turtle exhaled, reliefed that She didn't observed his turtle features. He took a look at the distracted officers and moved to the opposite wall, tip-toeing and flattened against it.

Mikey( internally): So, Morse is the the room across the one full of police officers...cool, cool...not cool.

______________________________________________

          Outside the station house, Leo was planning how to break in the station and get Mikey back without them being caught, seen of arrested, while Raph was pacing back and forth and Donnie was leaning against a wall.

Leo( tapping his chin, looking to the storey of the precinct): Donnie, do You have your infra-red goggles with You?

Donnie( putting on his goggles): Yes, why?

Leo: Okay, I have a plan. We're going to climb the gutters, break in the station on the second floor and activate the fire alarm. When everybody gets out, we take Mikey and get out. In and out.

Donnie: This isn't a bit risky?I mean, what if-

Raph: Donnie, we ain't have many options. An' knowin' Mikey, we're really runnin' lut of time.

Donnie: Fine. I will check If it's somebody there.

Leo: Good. We will take Mikey and get out from here fast.

Donnie: The second room from left is Empty.

Raph( cracking his knuckles): Alright, let's go then!

______________________________________________

        As the constables cheered and yelled at the ancient small TV, Jim Strange strechted his arms and got up from his chair.

Jim( muttering): Uh, I'll get stuck If I sit more on this bloody chair.

Jenkins: Hey, Strange, you abandoned the match or what?

Jim: Just moving around, Y'know, putting the blood at work.( His stomach growls). Looks like my stomach's having a revolution.

Morris: More like a nuclear attack, Strange.Ha!

Jim rolled his eyes and walked toward the evidence room where he had forgot his sandwich( yeah, he did when he took some reports) ,hoping that nobody has eaten it.

       The chubby man hummed a song from the 80s and he stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted a short person with an Orange oversized hoodie and yellow knee-high rain boots.

Jim( frowning): Hey, who are You, matey? And what are You doing here?

Mikey froze for a brief second, especially when a towering man like Jim stood a few feet away from him.

Mikey: I'm...My name is Michael...Hampton?I'm Michael Hampton.

Jim: Why are You here? I Heard Joanie asking You and You said Morse called You. 

Mikey( gulped): Y-yes! I'm a..witness! In his case!

Jim(arms crossed): I'm working on that case too.

Mikey( internally): Sewer pizza....( Then to Jim) He called me this morning! Said Something about a, Uh, declaration?

Jim: You look suspicious...How old are You?

Mikey:...18.

Jim: You look more like 12.

Mikey( fidgening with his hands): Uh, I Grew slower then average?

Jim: I don't know about You, but I'm going after Morse to ask him and see If You are who You are. And You come with me.

Mikey whimpered, but he walked with The police Constable to the projector room.

______________________________________________

           Morse was sitting on a chair, one leg drapped over the other and leaning against the back of the chair, smoking a cigarette, the waves of grey smoke curling around him. The blond Man stared at nothing, but his mind still at his case and his hands resting in his backpack on the other chiar.

          He tried to put the clues back together, to find a conection, but he couldn't find; it was like sand sneaking between his palms and fingers. His right hand brushed against his backpack, fingers twitching at the lateral pocket until he felt Something round on it.

Morse raised an eyebrow and searched into it, pulling out a shell-shaped phone. His blue eyes widened, and just as he was going to curse under his breath, he Heard knocking on the door.

Jim( from the outside):Hey Morse, You in there? Here's a kid that says You called him for the case, but I don't believe him. Can You come here?

  Morse sighed , stood up and opened the Dior. And there they were: Jim, in all his 6'2", wearing his navy blue Constable uniform, Brown hair nearly combed, stood next to and towered over a 4'10" person covered with an oversized hoodie and rain yellow boots.

Jim( pointing to Mikey): He says He's Michael Hampton, 18, witness in the case. Do You know this Little guy?

Mikey( waving a hand with The sleeve covering it up and swinging): Hello, Mr. Morse!

     Morse recognised the Voice instantly and nearly dropped his cigarette. He bit his lower lip, took a long breath and, in a very calm Voice..

Morse: Yes, he is Michael Hampton. He's 18 and a student from New York University – Tisch School of the Arts..but he is in holiday here and knows something that might be usefull for the case.

Jim: But why he's so small?

Morse( internally): And why are You build like a fridge?( Then to Jim). Maybe he has Asian genetics?

Jim: Maybe. Anyway, You deal with him now. I'm gonna take my lunch then go back to work. See ya.( He turns and walks away straight for the evidence room).

         Mikey exhaled and wipped imaginary sweat from his covered forehead.

Mikey: Pfiu, that was--

   Morse grabbed the Orange banded turtle by the right forearm and yanked him in the projector room, closing the door with a loud thud behind them.

Morse( arms crossed): What do You think are You doing here?!

Mikey( taking of his Hood, accusing index finger pointing at the detective): Retriving my phone from You, You phone-thief!

Morse( raising an eyebrow): I beg your pardon?

Mikey: Exactly! You took my phone when You left!

Morse( losing patience): Because You left it in my bags' pocket, You menace!

Mikey: Hey! I was drying it off!

Morse(exasperated): Who in their right mind dries his phone like this?!

Mikey: You obviously don't know me, dude.

   Morse pinched the bridge of his nose.

Morse: Do You realise that If anybody from here saw You, You would have been arrested, or worse, send to a special division, or even to MI5 or MI6?

Mikey(hand raised): What's MI5? 

      Morse facepalmed so hard that echoed.

Morse( hands Mikey his T-phone): Your phone..

Mikey( snatches it, looks at it): My sweet electric baby! You're back, bro.

Morse(sighs): We need to take You from here before someone observes You..but first off all...Talk.to.your.brothers.

Mikey: .....

Morse: Listen, I very sure You come here without them knowing. And I am sure they will come to rescue You and maybe cause even more chaos..so Tell them that I get You out from here before they come with some crazy rescue mission.

Mikey: Fine, fine.( He dials Leo's number and calls him). We kind of have to wait...

______________________________________________

Donnie: Why did I agree with this?

Raph(smirking): Ya didn't. That's the funny part.

Leo: Focus guys. We need to find the fire alarm, activate it and take Mikey.

Raph(rolled his eyes): Yeah, yeah, we get it, Fearless. 

Leo side-eyes him, but says nothing.

            Currently, the four ninja turtles, mastering four or five martial arts, protectors of New York ...were costumes like an instalator, a janitor and...a mope bucket?

Donnie( adjusting instalator cap under Hood): Ugh, this cap keeps sliding! Why?!

Raph( from the giant bucket): Ye're the one to complain. Ye're at least not hidin' in this damn bucket.

Leo(pushing the bucket, janitor cap falling on his eyes, hissing through gritted teeth): Be quiet or else our cover is over.

Raph( whispered-yelled): Fine.

Donnie( tapping Something on his smartwatch): The fire alarm is at the End of the hallway, last room....here( they arrive at the room's door)

     Leo opened his mind to Say Something when his T-phone rang, the techo-mix ringtone playing loud. The leader in blue fast took it from his Belt and answered it.

Mikey(cheerful): Sup, bro!

Leo( eyes wide): Mikey!

       Both Donnie and Raph stopped next to the eldest brother, listening with attention.

Leo( on speaker, low sound volume, whispered): Mikey, where are You?

Raph: Mikey, You're in so much trouble.

Leo: We'll talk later about this. Now, Mikey, where are you?

Mikey: Funny questions. (Laughs nervously) O may or not may be at the ground floor, in a room next to one full of police officers?

All three turtles at once: MIKEY!

Mikey: Bros, chill! I'm with Morse! And nobody saw me.

Donnie: Mikey, stay there. We are in the station and have a plan to--

Morse( intrerupting): Whatever You have planned, You need to stop. I will take Michelangelo out and silently through the back door. You three need to get out of here and fast. The break lunch and the football match are almost over, then the work starts again and You risk to be seen.

Leo( firm): We will wait at the back door. See You there.(Closes the call). 

Raph( groaned): Man, we just got in here...

Leo: And now we get out. Let's move.

______________________________________________

           Morse creaked open the door and assessed the field:all constables were gathered at the TV, glued to the screen and cheering like possessed men. Thursday, Bright and Jakes were all out, so he had better chances to sneak. Good.

Morse( whispered, to Mikey): Okay, You come with me. You Make no sound and don't go away from me until You're with your brothers. Understood?

Mikey( salutes): Sir, yes sir!

Morse rolled his eyes and walked put, Mikey close behind him. The Detective Sergeant took one look at his colleagues that didn't observed them, then hurried the turtle.

Mikey: Wait, wait!

Morse: What now?

Mikey: What are You going to Say to your colleague, Y'know, the big guy that nearly caught me? About the declaration and rest.

Morse( smirks): Jim? I Tell him You changed your mind. Now go, kid. Go to your brothers. Tell You're Sorry and that You love them.

Mikey: Thanks.

      Mikey gave the Fire Guardian a friendly smile and exited.

       The Sergeant sighed and leaned against the door. And just then, the last and loudest cheer errupted from the TV area, followed with ,, Oxford ever wins", and Thursday and Jakes coming back to the station house.

Fred( seeing Morse leaning against the door): You alright, Morse?

Morse( jumps on his feet): Yes, sir!

Peter: Sure? Cause You look like You just played Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible.

Morse ( rolled his eyes): Don't You have Something better to do, Jakes?

Peter: Then to tease You? Never.

Fred: Do You want me to give You reports to write, Jakes?

Peter: No sir.

Fred: Then go back to your work before I give You extra homework.

Peter( already marching to his office): Yes sir!

Morse chuckled.

     The old inspector turned his attention back to his bagman.

Fred: So, Something new on your case, Morse?

     Morse adjusted his tie and stopped next to his boss.

Morse: Yes, but slower then I like.

Fred: Not everything's goes as You like, son.

Morse: Indeed...I will continue my work then...

     To be continued....

Chapter Text

       Chapter 5

    Mikey stopped in the middle of the alley and looked around. Slowly, he slid his hand in the pocket of his hoodie and took his phone.

Mikey( whispering to his pocket): Come here, my bud--

   He never saw it coming. One moment he was enjoying his win, the other he was tackled by a green- red blur to the ground, followed by a blue and a purple one that stopped next to him.

Mikey(looking at his Brothers, nervous Smile): Hi, guys! Uh, Sup?

Leo( arms crossed, his sapphire blue eyes giving the Best ,,brother/leader glare", Voice low and serious): Michelangelo Hamato, You are in so much trouble. Do You have any idea in what Danger You put yourself? 

Mikey( defending): I was just trying to get my phone back!

Leo: Do You realise that You could have been caught by humans? Do You realise in what situation You put us after You dissapeared? 

Donnie( frowning): We broke in the station house and planned to create a distraction by activating the fire alarm and to take You out. But what If we were late? What If Morse wasn't there to find You in time?

Mikey: But he was there and nobody saw me! What's with all this fuss If everything is fine?

Raph(gets on his feet, smacks Mikey's back of head): Ya don't get it, don't ya?

Mikey( rubbing his Head): That was rude, bro.

Leo: Mikey, You can't rely just on luck and improvisation. You have to think, to asses the possible threats before You jump in. Not all the humans are good and kind with us like April, Casey, Morse and Cameron..(pauses, sighs). Humans hate us, and all four of us know it.

Mikey( slumps his shoulders): I'm Sorry, Leo.

Leo: And as much as I hate it, You are grounded when we are back home.

Mikey( baby blue eyes wide): WHAT?!Leo, Please, I'm Sorry. I know I made mistakes, but You can't do that, dude!

Leo: You need to understand the consequences of Your actions. We will talk with Master Splinter about this..but this will be later. Now we need to find the Kraang teleportation device.( To the purple banded turtle). Donnie?

Donnie(checking GPS main tracker) : We're less then 10 minutes away from the building.

Raph: Good. We move.( To the youngest) And I keep an eye on ya.

      Mikey said nothing, but followed his Brothers as They sprinted to the location..

______________________________________________

           The four teenage mutant ninja turtles hid in the shadows, observing the sorroundings. The building was tall, with a new light gray facade and windows so clean that the sun rays reflected on it. On a part of the building,scaffoldings stood like abandoned constructions against the unfinished wall. At the entrance, the Deep brown wooden double doors were guarded by two men dressed in black Japanesse attires. Leo's eyes squinted, scanning them both.

Raph( behind Leo): What do we wait, Fearless? We take 'em down and burst in.

Leo: Raph, listen( he observes a symbol on one of the guards' chest)

Raph:Listen what, Man? Hey, Leo, ya saw a ghost or somethin'?

Leo: The Foot...They're ninjas from the Foot Clan.

Raph( acide green eyes wide): Say what? 

Donnie( from behind Raph): Leo, but we're in England! And why the Foot would be here?

Mikey: Oh, maybe they wanna extend?

Raph(deadpean): Ya say this like they're a freakin' company.

Leo: They are here for a serious reason.Shredder wouldn't have send them here If he hadn't a plan.

Raph: We needa get in there.

Leo: Through the front door, Raph? Seriously? We aren't in an action movie!

Raph(slighlty angry): Then how we're supposed to enter then, Leo?

Leo( pointing to the scaffoldings): Through there. That area has a good chance to be empty.

Mikey:( moving next to Leo, loud): Operation ,,Kick the Foot and go home" it's on,baby!

Raph slaps a hand over Mikey's mouth and drags him next to him.

Raph(to his youngest brother, hissing): Don't Tell them where we are, bonehead!

        Leo scanned the perimeter and announced the plan: distracting and knocking down the guards, climbing the scaffoldings, entering the building, finding the device and go home. In theory IT was simple. Practicaly? Nothing goes as planned for them; not fully.

      Mikey reached into his Belt and threw a bomb smoke at the guards, Deep purple smoke sorrounding them like a cloud. With two swift pressure points strikes from Leo, the ninjas fell flat on the ground, unconcious.The turtles sprinted past them, coughs reaching their ears as they run toward the towering metal structures. Mikey flipped into it first, Donnie Simply jumped on it, followed by Raph and Leo , who looked at the door to see If someone was coming and climbed the last after his brothers.

         The four turtles stopped at the last level of the building at a window.

Raph pulled at it, but wouldn't budge.

Raph(growled): It's closed.

Donnie( pulling out a device made with a plunger, a glass cutting knife and a giant compass): Let me do the magic trick!( The purple banded turtle cracked his knuckles, fixed the plunge and cut cleanly the glass; he took glass piece and put back the device). Ta-da!

Raph muttered Something that suspiciously sounded like ,,show-off" and they got inside. Leo unsheated his katanas, looking around while his brothers tip-toed along with him.

Leo( whispered): Donnie, did You locate the device?

Donnie( whispered): It's in the room across this one and the stairs railings, the one with the yellow exclamation mark on the door.

Raph( eyeing the many Foot ninjas that walked at that level): Great. Things can't get worse then this. At least I can kick some Foot asses.

Donnie: Guys, we're outnumbered.

Leo: This time se have no choice. If we want to get the device and go home, we have to confront them. Ready?

    They all nodded. And when a Foot ninja made the mistake to inspect the room where they were...Raph drop-kicked him in the railings, and the turles burst outside, weapons ready and lunged.

 ______________________________________________         

           The moment Raph’s kick echoed through the hallway, alarms blared—a harsh, grating noise that bounced off the walls.

Foot ninjas poured out from side doors and the hallway like a flood of shadows. They hissed, unsheathing blades and throwing shurikens.

Leo: Defensive formation! Donnie, grab that device the second we clear a path!

The turtles burst into motion.

     Leo spun forward, katanas flashing. He ducked a sword strike, pivoted, and elbowed a ninja in the ribs. Another rushed him from behind—but Leo stepped sideways and hooked his leg, flipping the attacker clean over the railing.

      Donnie smacked a Foot soldier with his bo-staff, then adashed toward the yellow-marked door, avoiding throwing stars with slick sidesteps.

      Raph was in berserker mode, grinning.

He grabbed one ninja, swung him like a bat into two others, then blocked a punch with his sai. He headbutted the guy.

Raph: I missed this. A lot.

     He kicked a crate at a group running in, knocking them flat.

      Mikey did flips and cartwheels through the chaos, his nunchucks twirling like helicopter blades. One Foot soldier lunged at him—Mikey jumped over him, landed, and smacked him square on the helmet.Mikey chuckled. The one ninja threw a punch—Mikey ducked, stuck a “kick me” sign on his back, and tripped him.

      Just as the purple-banded turtle reached the yellow-marked door, a group of ninjas ambushed him. He spinned his staff, blocking the attacks and trying to hit back, but they were too many and he had to back off. He blocked other attacks, hit one ninja, but other took his place;Donnie growled through gritted teeth, and his grip on staff was like iron, knuckles turning white. The genius turtle took one glance over his shoulder and saw that he was dangerously close to the railings.

Donnie( eyes wide, shouts):Guys! I need back up , now!

Leo( punching a ninja and sweeping it's feet): Hang on, I'm coming!( He tried to make his way to his younger brother by fighting the ninjas)

       Donnie turned just in time to block with his bo staff a sword aimed at his neck, metal clashing with wood. He broke free from that one, but in a fraction of second, another Foot ninja jump front kicked him hard; the turtle hit the railings with his Shell and lost his balance, falling over it. 

          The purple banded turtle feels weightless and the time slows down as he plummets, letting a short shriek escape his throat. His Brothers turn in horror as they see their Brother fall, pushing every ninja away to reach Donnie.

           The purple banded turtle closed his eyes and prayed in his mind for mercy,braced himself for death...But when he reached around the fifth floor, he felt himself snatched, pulled by a great force, pain shouting his body as something sharp stung his skin and air ripped from his lungs. He opened his eyes in time to see the white armor with silver and golden details and the short and soft Ginger-coppery hair...Cameron. They both flew and crashed on a wall, falling on the floor with a thud in a heap of limbs.

Cameron( brushing Donnie's long bandana tails from his face): Are You alright?

Donnie( low Voice): Y-yes. Thank You.

       He tries to get up, but the Light Guardian helps him, then She unsheats her bo staff- Scepter of Light.

Donnie( gripping his own bo-staff): How did You know we came here?

Cameron(smirks): Let's Say that a Little bird saw You and told me about this.

      Suddenly, Morse jumped ,in his Red armour and twin katanas unsheated,from Below onto the railing next to them.

Morse: I'm more like a fiery pheonix If You ask me.

Donnie: You spied on us?

Morse: Took an eye on You. But we don't have time to talk now because You have to rescue that device to go home, right?

       Donnie nodded, and the three of them climb to the battle.

______________________________________________

        The Red banded turtle managed to Slam two ninjas to make his way to the railing when he saw Donnie, Morse and Cameron jump and land, ready for battle.

Mikey( mid-fight, seeing his older brother and their new friends): You're back!

Cameron: Of course. Do You guys really believed we'll leave you alone in danger? 

     With no other words, Cameron, Morse and Donnie joined the fight along with the others. Morse flipped, swung his katanas with precision, taking of the Foot ninjas' swords and drop-kicking them; Cameron spinned her staff, knocking out and throwing over the railings the Foot. Leo keept the ninjas at bay, blocking their path to the yellowish-marked door, while Mikey and Raph tripped and slammed the enemies. The Purple banded turtle, having the path clear, sprinted down and kicked open the door, bursting in the room, and started searching franatically for the device.

Donnie( muttering, searching on a desk): Come on, come on, come on, where are--( he opens a drawer and finds it). I FOUND IT! 

     He snatched it and runned out to the battlefield, holding the Kraang teleportation device high.

Donnie( shouting): I found it!

Leo( kicking down a Foot ninja): Then we need to retreat! Now!

Mikey( taking smoke bombs from his Belt): I got it guys!( Throws the bombs, explode and form dark purple clouds around). Booyakasha!

        The turtles and the two Guardians vanished from the battlefield, sprinting down the concrete as They got outside. Cameron and Leo glanced over their shoulders to see If any Foot was coming for them; but nobody was after them.

______________________________________________

         The six warriors stopped in the middle of the gangue, taking their breath.

Raph: This..was actually kinda good.

Morse( raising an eyebrow): Really?

Raph: Yeah. We ain't beat Foot ninjas for three days, man.

Cameron ( to Donnie): That's the device?

Donnie: Yes. It was an alien enemy device I reverse-engineered so we'd be able to use.

Leo: And Mikey is banned from it.

Mikey( grinning): Still worth it.

          The older turtles rolled thier eyes, while Cameron chuckled.

Leo( looking with sad eyes at Morse and Cameron): So we go home now, huh? 

Mikey sniffles , Raph pretends to be cool.

Donnie: Yeah...Wait! (Looking at the two hybrids) I have Something for You( he searched into his Belt and takes out two T-phones). I have built this in case we lost or got ours destroyed. But I think that they will be equally usefull for You two.

Cameron( Slightly blushing): Thank You! But, Uh, are You sure You don't need them?

Donnie( waving of): Nah. I can build others anytime. Plus, You can keep communicating with us.( He gives them the phones and they take them).

Morse( putting his in a trouser's pocket): Thanks.

       The purple banded turtle touched some buttons on the device and it levitated out of his hands, projecting from above a triunghiular Pink portal.

Raph tried to act cool, but his eyes lingered a second too long.

Leo looked at them and told them that maybe they will meet again.

Donnie gave them a sad smile, trying to hide his sadness.

Mikey hugged Cameron hard, then Morse, who went absolutely stiff and awkward.

 Mikey: You ever come to New York, you better call me!

Raph: C'mon, Mikey, let's go.

As the four ninja turtles stepped through the portal, Mikey turned and waved, his Orange hoodie's sleeves flailing.

Mikey: I PROMISE WE’LL MEET AGAIN!

Cue Leo grabbing him by the shell and dragging him in along with the device just when the portal closed.

_____________________________________________

         Morse and Cameron remained frozen on their places, look at the empty spot where the Turtles stood.

Cameron (quietly):They are different, like us… and good.

Morse (lights a cigarette with his finger, replies):Better than most humans.

    A quiet breeze brushed against their bare forearms and faces.

Morse: I should go back to work. What about You?

Cameron: Nah, the others left the station early for a game or something. I told Inspector Brackenreid I had to go quickly to a mission and he was like ,,go, but don't light anything" and left with Murdoch, Julia and the constables.

Morse: Well, I'm not so lucky. I have to leave Thursday home and return in time before Mr. Bright observes my absence and yells at me when I return.

Cameron( smirks, nudges): Mr. Bright enjoys yelling at people. Seriously, If he doesn't yell then Something's wrong with him, isn't it?

Morse( weak Smiley): Yeah..and I think he enjoys yelling at me the most. People seem to enjoy hating me.

Cameron(playfully): Maybe your face plays a role too.

Morse( fake offended): My face?!

Cameron( leans in close): Yes. But despite all your cold exterior, I know that Deep down it's a good, warm heart that doesn't like to be exposed to everyone.

Morse freezed for a moment, then blushed Slightly.

Morse: I should go now..

Cameron: See You later then.

          He walked away toward the back entrance of this station house, while She watched him untill he entered and then left, heading to her flat.

To be continued....

Chapter Text

   Chapter 6

 New York City, 10 AM

         The silence of the empty lair was broken as the four mutant turtles fell on a heap on the floor of the living room from a Pink portal.

Raph( groaning): Ugh, we should stop landin' like this.

Donnie(panicking, looking around): The device! Where-

Leo( holding the device in his hand): I got it.

Donnie( reliefed): Thank God..

      They stood up, dusting of their gear.

Mikey: Good to be home, guys! Sewers, sweet sewers.

Leo: Don't get to hyped. You're still grounded.

Mikey pouted and slumped in defeat, while Raph chuckled.   

          Soon enough, Master Splinter appeared from his room and rushed to his Sons.

Splinter: My Sons, where have You been? I searched You everywhere and couldn't find You.

Raph: Long story short, Mikey messed with Donnie's gizmo an' send us across the ocean in Oxford, England.

Mikey: And we meet two awesome elves that fight crime and love eachother!

Splinter: What?

Mikey: They are police officers, Sensei! And one , Morse, is brooding and pretends to be cold, but he's a cool guy that bends fire! And the other is woman named Cameron and She's so cool and--( Raph slaps a hand over his youngest brother's mouth).

Raph: Okay, Ya're done here genius.

Mikey: Mmph!

Raph: Shut up.

     Master Splinter sighed , a sigh only a father of four mutant ninja teenagers can have, and dragged a hand over his face.

Leo( trying to fix the situation): But they are good persons that fight the evil and hide their nature, just like us.

Splinter: Are they mutants too?

Donnie( intervenind): Actually, Master Splinter, they aren't mutants, but hybrids between mystical beings: elves...and humans.

Splinter: So they are mystical warriors send by the ancient gods.

Donnie wanted to open his mouth to correct his father, but Leo slapped a hand over the purple banded turtle's mouth.

Leo(nervous Smile): Yes, yes they are. But( worried expression) ..it's something there that it's concerning..

Splinter( interested): What is it, Leonardo?

Leo: While we retrieved the device, we found Foot Clan ninjas preparing a base there.

Splinter: Why would Shredder send his soldiers and build a base in England?

Leo: We don't know yet, Sensei. But Something tells me that Shredder has a new twisted plan.

     Splinter stroked his beard, analysing the informations he just heard. 

Suddenly..

Raph( waving hand): Ya licked my hand, Mikey!

Mikey: You didn't lemme go, Raphie. 

Raph( cracking his knuckles): I'll show ya Raphie..( lunges at the freckled turtle ) Come here!

Mikey( dodges and hides behind Leo): You can't hit me!

     Splinter got out of his thoughts and turned to the Orange banded turtle.

Splinter: Michelangelo?

Mikey( smiles nervously): Yes?

Splinter: You caused this disturbance in... dimension travelling, didn't you?

Mikey: Ugh, yes?

Splinter: Then we will have a talk about this. In the dojo.

Mikey: Like now?

Splinter: Yes. And Leonardo will come too because I want the full story and a second opinion about the events.

       Mikey give his Best puppy- eyes, but the ninja master knocked swiftly with his staff on the floor, signaling his Sons to go.

       And just as they three went to the dojo, Mikey saw Raph chuckling and then coughing, trying to hide it, and Donnie giving a weak thumbs-up and mouthed ,,Good luck".

______________________________________________

Oxford, England, 4 days later

         Pink and Orange trays mixed on the Sky, as the last sun rays kissed the town before the night's arrival. The last sun rays entered through the windows of Cameron's flat, casting dancing shadows across the living room.

         The Light Guardian was sitting cross-legged on the couch, sketching a flaming blade on her sketchbook. Morse, who had came for a visit and spend some time with his Best friend, was looking at her books, running a thin index finger on the titles as he read them.

Morse( eyes squinting at a Raymond Chandler book): I see that You keept the novel with Philippe Marlow I gave You in high-school.

Cameron ( looking up from her sketchbook): Of course I did. I enjoyed Marlow's street-smart style and sarcasm.

Morse: He doesn't have that elegance like Sherlock.

Cameron: Yeah, but despite being flawed, he's still lovable and funny.

Morse: Yes, but--

     From her coats' pocket, a short notification sound escaped. She shoved her hand in the pocket and took out the T-phone Donnie gave her.

     It was a message from Mikey.

Mikey: Hi, Cameron! What'cha doing?

     Morse raised an eyebrow , walked and sat next to his leader.

Morse: Don't tell me, it's Michelangelo, isn't he?

Cameron: Yes he is. (She start typing).

       In the chat:

Cameron: Very well, Thanks. How about You and Your Brothers?

Mikey: Training, fighting evil, eating pizza, our ninja stuff. Hey, do You remember when I broke in Morse's station house?

Cameron: Yes, why?

Mikey: I got grounded for a week for this by Leo and Master Splinter.😭😭

Cameron: Who's Master Splinter?

Mikey: Our mutant humanoid rat father that is a ninja master, duh.

In the flat.

Morse: Only Mikey could have said that.

Cameron smirked.

In the chat:

Cameron: If You're grounded, then how are You texting me?

Mikey: Oh, Donnie helped me. He said he needed me to help him with Something in the lab, and he also let me secretly text You guys...If I Bring him coffee in exchange for the cover, of course.☕☕

Cameron: 😆 of course he did. 

Mikey: Well, I kinda have to return to work...So chat You soon!🤗😁 Btw, Donnie says hi and asks how are You guys.

Cameron: Text You soon them..😘😘

Mikey: 🥰🥰.

In the flat: 

Morse( smiling despite himself): He's a good menace.

Cameron: He has a good heart, Morse, despite his goofiness.

Morse: And turns out to be very sociable for a mutant turtle.

Cameron ( smirks, playfully ruffles his hair): Maybe You could take some lessons from him.

Morse rolled his eyes but leaned his head against her shoulder.

______________________________________________

       Epilogue

Meanwhile, somewhere in New York City, in a tall, dark and towering building, Shredder was pacing back and forth in his throne room, his polished armour clattering as he stepped with his heavy boots.

          Suddenly, the large heavy doors of the room opened, and TigerClaw entered and stopped near the doors.

TigerClaw: Master Shredder, I just received the report from our base in England.

Shredder: Did they finished asambling the base?

TigerClaw: No, Master. Actually, they got ambushed by the turtles and two martial artists humans with weapons.

Shredder( snarling): THE TURLTES?! How did they get in there?

TigerClaw: The ninja commender said that they used a stolen Kraang teleportation device.

Shredder: Those turtles...and now they have allies there?

TigerClaw: A man and a woman, with weapons and strange armours. They said they moved at inhuman speed and that the woman used a strange staff. Some Say that they might be yokais or worse.

Shredder: Tell them to return to New York. I will deal with them here.

TigerClaw: Yes, Master.

Shredder: Send Rahzar and other ninjas in Oxford. He will train them. And considering that those humans seem to not be humans but supernatural beings, I will go in Oxford to finish them myself.

TigerClaw: Your wish is my command, Master Shredder.

       The mutant tiger bowed in front of his master and walked away, the heavy doors closing behind him with no sound.

       Shredder sat in his throne, slamming his right fist in the arm of the throne,feeling his blood boiling in his veins.

Shredder: Those filty mutant turtles and their new strange allies will pay for ruining my plans. When I found them, they will understand why I am called the Shredder..

The End.

Chapter Text

        2017

      It all started with a flood.

It was a peacefull October evening in 2017, cold wind flowing down the streets of Oxford and taking the coppery leaves from the pavement and trees. Jim was watching a talent show, eating popcorn and sitting comfortably on the couch when his phone rang. Without getting up, he took the phone from his coffee table and answered.

Jim: Jim Strange here.

Morse( a bit panicked): Jim, thank fire You answered.

Jim: Hey mate, What's up? Why d'you sound like You're under attack?

Morse: Well, actually, I am...kind of.

Jim( raising an eyebrow): What do You mean ,,kind of"? The Master of Darkness' soldiers are there?

Morse:No, no, Jim. Um, well, my flat got flodded.

        In the next 5 minute, Morse explained how his flat got flooded when a pipe burst during one of his “Fire meditation sessions” (meaning he was probably trying to boil water with his fire powers). So naturally, the universe decided Jim Strange’s apartment would become a temporary refugee camp for the Fire Guardian.

Morse: Can I stay at your flat for a week until my flat is fixed?

Jim: Sure, matey. 

Morse: Thanks...You're the best, Jim. I'll pack my things and come at your place at 21. See You soon!

   The call closed.

   Jim put his phone back on the coffee table and looked back at the TV, thinking that he made a good decision helping a friend in trouble.

......he would regret that a week later

______________________________________________

         At precisely 20:55, when the ending credits were rolling on the TV screen,Jim Strange heard three hard knocks on his flat's door. The Broad Man stood up from the couch that creacked and marched up to his door and opened it.

       And there he was. Endeavour Morse, Fire Guardian, human-elf hybrid, swordsmaster.....drenched head to toe, while holding two suitcases and looking like a very angry drowned cat. His Ginger-coppery hair was plastered on his forehead, his white t-shirt ,from under his military Green trench coat , clung to him like a second skin, showing his pale abs and ribs. His white-and-red Converse squealed every time he stepped, and his Light blue straight jeans were dark blue from the amount of water.

Jim: You look like Death after a cold shower, Morse.

Morse ( sarcastic): Thanks. And You still look like a fridge.

Jim( gesturing behind him): Come in. I'll take some towels.( He headed to his bedroom).

       The thin man walked in, threw his suitcases next to the coffee table and plopped on the couch, head in his hands. He sighed ,and just then, Jim returned.

Jim gave Morse a towel and sat next to him.

Morse( drying his hair): Thanks,Jim.

Jim: You're welcome. 

Morse: I just talked with the instalator. He told be that the pipes will be fixed Sunday...and told me to not help him.

Jim: Why not? You really can help him.

Morse( slams the towel next to him, runs a hand throw his hair): Turns out, he doesn't need ,,smartass with overly complicated diplomas engineers" to help him.

Jim: That must have been a good hit, mate.

Morse( deadpean, looking Jim in his Brown eyes): I'm considering setting one of his eyebrows on fire with my fire powers after he finishes his work...and I'm still thinking which one to burn.

Jim( laugh nervously): Heh, well,I prepared the guest room. You can sleep in there while You're here.

Morse: Thanks, but I could have sleept here, or in the bathroom or the floor.

Jim: Nonsense.( Yawns, stretches). I'm going to sleep. You can stay awake If You want.( Yawns again). Night, Morse.( He gets up from the couch and walks in his bedroom).

        Morse remained in his place and watched as his corpolent friend closed the door behind him. He took one look at his suitcases, back at Jim's bedroom, and back at the suitcases; and he picked them up and walked in the guest room. He didn't bother to unpack them then because he had enough time the next day after work, but still he took and put on long black pajama pants and a white tank top. 

         Morse flopped on the bed and curled under the blanket, slowly drifting off to sleep...

______________________________________________

Monday: The Shower of Doom

6:20 AM.

Jim was standing in the shower.

Hot water. Peace. Enya playing softly in the background. He’s wrapped in steam, grace, and his trusty pink bonnet with “BAD BOY BUBBLE QUEEN” stitched with rhinestones( a gift from Fancy).The world was quiet. The soap was lavender. His soul was clean.

Then the door creaks open. A shadow crosses the curtain.

A Voice: Mornin’, Jim! Your sink’s making death rattles.

Jim froze.

The voice belonged to Morse. Elf. Flatmate. Creature of chaos in a cardigan.

Jim( yelling):MORSE. I AM NAKED.

Morse:I’m not looking. Just grabbing a wrench.

      Jim peeked his Head out from behind the curtains and saw Morse crouched under the sink with a wrench, a biscuit in his mouth, and a cup of tea balanced on his knee.

Jim: YOU'RE HAVING A SNACK IN MY BATHROOM WHILE I’M NAKED.

Morse ( half-muffled from the biscuit): I didn't eat in three days, Jim. Let me eat something or I'll faint.

Jim( exasperated):YOU SHOULDN’T BE IN HERE!

But the older man was already on the floor, under the sink, tools clanking.

Jim threw a rubber duck at him.

Morse (dodged): Excellent trajectory.

Then Jim hurled a bottle of conditioner. It bounced off Morse's shoulder and he thanked Jim for the “refreshing coconut.”

Jim slipped on conditioner, screamed, and knocked over the shampoo shelf.

Morse fixed the sink. Left behind two biscuit crumbs and a sticky note on the mirror that said ‘Nice pipes.’

When the larger man finally got out — drenched, furious, and betrayed — he found tea stains on his bath mat.

Morse( from the entrance door, already ready for work in jeans, a Button up shirt, sneakers, his trench coat and backpack): See You at work ,Jim!

Jim's inner peace packed a bag and left.

______________________________________________

Tuesday: The Spicy Inferno

        That day at the Cowley Station House could have only be described as ,,chaotic as hell": three murders on a roll, an incident when two arrested men attacked eachother before they were closed in cells( Morse managed to tackle one, he got punched in the ribs, and Thursday punched the arrested Man in the ribs; Jim caught the other, and the suspect kicked him in the shin)....and a mission during work: Jim, Morse, Fancy and Cameron went to stop some soldiers of Master of Darkness before they managed to steal a sacred artifact from Ashmolean Museum.

         So naturally, Jim was exhausted and wanted a simple and delicious dinner. He walked in the kitchen and found Morse stirring Something, humming a Mahler opera.

Jim: Morse, what’s for dinner? 

Morse: Something light. Airy. Just a gentle curry.

   Jim frowned, suspicious of the ,,light, airy curry" Morse cooked.

There are three things Jim discovered about Morse across the years:

1. Morse is the Fire Guardian and fire doesn't cause him burns.

2. Morse's tolerance for spice is inhumane.

3. Jim had heartburn from smelling the stew.

What he served his colleague could only be described as a war crime in a bowl.

The curry glowed. Not metaphorically. It had bioluminescence.

Jim took a bite.

Jim( face beet red):Morse, what did you put in this?

Morse( calm, unbothered):Ghost pepper. Dragon pepper. A whisper of flame essence. A dash of something I found labeled ,,volatile".

Immediately, Jim saw his childhood. His late grandma. A raccoon. A trumpet. All dancing.

He saw his ancestors doing the Macarena.

He saw Cameron giving him a thumbs-up from the clouds.

He died. Spiritually.

    He drank the entire galon of milk, chewed ice cubs and stuck his head in the fridge. Morse, on the other hand, was peacefully eating curry, breaking not even a sweat.

Morse: Hm, needs a bit more spice, doesn't it?

Jim never wanted more in his life to slap one of his friends.

Later, after he partially recovered he called Cameron and told her what happened.

Jim( also):I think my soul left my body and is now marinating.

      Cameron laughed for 6 straight minutes and closed the call.

______________________________________________

Wednesday: Morning train drill 

             Light Grey clouds were scattered on the lavender-blue sky like lost broken toys. It was half past 4 in the morning, the sun nowhere to be seen. It was the kind of hour were even a city like Oxford was sleeping.

            The Constable was snoring like a chainsaw in his bed, the blanket lazily tucked under his chin , and dreaming about being a Chief SuperIntendent when he Heard a soft crash( Morse hitting the coffee table accidentaly).

           Jim didn't bother to wake up and rolled over. 

         But the sounds kept coming: soft thuds( Morse landing from his backflips, spinning flips and kick- jumps), the sound of air being sliced( Morse practicing kata) and the occasional sound of Something small clattering on the floor( Morse's earphones falling from his ears). Jim knew that Morse was the source of this noise and chose to ignore his lunatic flatmate.

         And suddenly every sound stopped. Jim listened for a full minute to be sure he wasn't halucinating; but the noise stopped.

Jim( mumbling, rolling over again): Finally...

        He nestled even better in his bed, drifting back to his sleep and dream when he felt Something poking his cheek.

A voice( whispered): Morning, Jim.

Jim opened his eyes and nearly jumped out of his skin.

     Morse was slighlty bent over Jim, in full armour, katanas sheated across the back toward the right.

Jim: WHAT THE ACTUALL HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

Morse: Morning training, of course.

Jim( taking a look at the watch from his bedside): It's 4 and a half in the bloody morning! Are You bonkers, mate?

Morse: Oh, Please, Jim. Sleep is overrated. We have enough time to sleep after we die. But now, as we live, we stay awake and live!

Jim( hissed): Get. Out. From. My. Bedroom.

Morse: It's time to get up and train, Jim. Now come on, get up, and rise and shine.

Jim: If You don't get out in the next 10 seconds, I will personally throw You THROUGH the window. And we are at first floor.

Morse: So what? I do insane jumps from higher floors and perfectly land with no broken bones.

Jim( puffing, eyes narrowed): You better run or so help me--

Thwack!

Jim: What the--

Morse( holding a pillow): If You don't get down from the bed the easy way, then I'll get You down with The hard way.( He smacks Jim again).

Jim( throwing the blanket , standing up and cracking his big knuckles): That's it!

       Morse threw the pillow at younger Man's face and sprinted.

Jim( running after Morse): Come back here, You skinny menace!

        They run across the hallway, then in the living room. Jim tried to tackle Morse, but the Fire Guardian flipped and Jim crashed in the wall.

Morse:Ha! Too slow, big guy!

       Jim stood up and chased again.

         After half an hour of yelling, crashing, threats and a neighbour threating to call the landlord, they gave up and slumped on the couch.

Morse: Wasn't this refreshing?

Jim( panting): I hate You.

Morse: Do You want some pancakes?

Jim:...I still hate You.

         Later that day, during lunchbreak, Thursday passed by Jim's office and saw the Constable staring at his sandwich.

Thursday: What's wrong, lad? You look like someone stole You Something.

Jim( pointing at Morse at the End of the room, typing Something): He stole my will to live.

Thursday ( taking his pipe from his trench coat 's coat): Eh, you'll live. I have raised him for 14 years; a week with with him is nothing.

Jim: If I disappear, it was the brooding elf with blue eyes.

         The Inspector rolled his eyes and left, his heavy steps echoing as he walked. Jim hit the desk with his Head.

______________________________________________

Thursday : The Sticky Note Revolution

         It was a warm day. The Sky was clean, the wind was a small breeze that barely brushed and kids were playing and laughing. Jim thought he will finally have a peacefull day. He was wrong.

        He barely opened the door of his flat when he saw the scene.

Books ,about History, Math, Physics, Art, Engineering,and even Detective novels, were everywhere.On the sofa. On the coffee table. On the kitchen counter. On Jim's room.One was titled “50 Ways to Use Fire Indoors (Legally)”.

Jim had enough.

He hid Morse’s engineering projects. Disassembled one “plasma cannon.” Hid Morse’s “Anti-Jim Emergency Kit” (which contains a taser and earplugs). And most importantly, Morse's vynil records with Mahler and Wagner.

        When he returned to the flat and didn't saw them, Morse searched them franatically.

Morse(muttering, searching in the kitchen cabinets): Where are them? Where are them? Come one, where-

Jim( leaning against a wall, arms crossed, smirking): Missing Something, matey?

Morse( eyes narrowing): You did this, didn't You?

Jim: I may or may not. I'm going to take a nap.Good luck finding your papers and things, Fire Boy.

   Morse glared at him.

Three hours later, the sergeant eventually found everything.

In the evening, Jim woke up, walked to his car, and discovers hundreds of sticky notes plastered across the windshield.

Messages include:

“You can hide my stuff, but not your sins.”

“I know what you did last Thursday.”

“I melted all the spoons.”

 “I swapped two eggs from fridge. Psychological test.”

 “You’re now being judged by the bathroom light switch."

A few pedestrians past by, looked and burst out laughing.

Jim stared at his car. Then, up at the sky, like asking the gods.

Jim:Why me?

______________________________________________

Friday – Roast Day (And Not the Edible Kind)

At breakfast in the living room, Morse looked Jim up and down, leaned back and smirked. 

Morse:You know... if I melted you down, I’m pretty sure I could make armor. And maybe a boat.

Jim ( narrowed his eyes): Careful.

Morse:I’m just saying, you’re the only person I know who breaks scales by standing on them.

Jim:Oh yeah?And you’re the only guy I know who could be kidnapped by a strong breeze.

Morse:Your biceps have biceps.

Jim:And your shoulders are made of twigs and regret.

Morse:You know, if we dropped you in a boxing ring, they’d classify you as a ‘walking fridge.’

Jim (raised an eyebrow):Say that again?

Morse:I said... you could legally be a small SUV.

Jim:Oh, you think you’re funny, string bean? You look like a rejected elf model from Lord of the Rings.

Morse:Better than the final boss of a buffet.

Jim tossed a slice of bacon at him. Morse caught it mid-air—with chopsticks.

They both started laughing—until Jim deadlifted the sofa with Morse still on it.

Morse( yelped):Put me down!

Jim just walked in circles.

______________________________________________

Saturday – The Great Vase Incident

Jim’s pride and joy was a rare, hand-painted flower vase from his grandmother.

Morse’s doom came when he attempted a spin-kick and accidentaly hit and took down the vase with his heel.

CRASH.

Jim stared at the fragments of the broken vase. 

Jim:You. Broke. Giulia.

Morse (slowly backing away): It was an accident!

Jim( cracking his knuckles and neck):You’ve signed your will, Elf Boy.

Morse ran. Jim chased. He cornered him on the balcony.

With a smirk and a salute, Morse LEAPT OFF.

Jim gasped—only to see Morse land perfectly like the true ninja he is.

Morse (yelled): Parkour!

Jim leaned over and started chucking Morse’s two suitcases down after him. 

Jim:You want dramatic? TAKE YOUR DRAMA WITH YOU!

Morse (dodged and yelled):YOU COULD BE A WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION—IN A HUG.

Down below, neighbors witnessed a chair, a toaster, a pink bonnet , and a packet of quinoa flying out of the second floor.Then:

Morse (yelling): YOU CAN’T CATCH ME, I’M A FIRE GUARDIAN.

Jim (shouting): I’M A HEAVYWEIGHT WITH ANGER ISSUES.

______________________________________________

SUNDAY – The Day of Reckoning

Jim woke at 6 a.m. in war paint.

He dressed as a monk.

No, a samurai.

No, a silent agent of revenge: Jason Voorhees.

Morse, finally in his fixed flat, had just fall asleep in long baggy red checkered pijama pants and a Grey t-shirt when the door BURST open.

Jim stood in the doorway, wearing a hockey mask, holding a fake chainsaw buzzing like a hornet.It was the final straw.

Jim: TIME TO PAY FOR YOUR CRIMES, DEMON ELF.

Morse screamed a sound so high only dogs could hear. Leapt out of bed. Grabbed his katanas, spun, and tackled Jim into the carpet.

Jim(screaming ,the chainsaw whirred weakly):STOP! IT’S ME! IT’S JIM! JIM! THE CHAINSAW'S FAKE!

Morse (sitting on Jim's chest, held his katana an inch from Jim’s neck):ARE YOU MAD?!I'M A TRAINED NINJA ASSASSIN! I COULD HAVE KILLED YOU!

Jim (wheezed):...yes. After a week with you? Absolutely bonkers. I'm still trying to figure out how Cameron doesn't lose her mind with You.

They layed there, panting.

Morse: ...Next time, I’m staying with Cameron.

Jim: You’re banned from this flat. For life.

______________________________________________

EPILOGUE 

Cameron, in straight black jeans, her Green flared trench coat , white ankle sneakers and a black Button up shirt , knocked on the door. Jim opened it slowly, still wearing the mask, covered in post-curry sweat, looking like a man who hadn’t slept since the Cold War, and holding a cup of lukewarm rea.

Cameron: Hey! What's up, Jim?

Jim: Take him.

Cameron(confused): ..who?

Jim: Take your boyfriend.

Cameron( blushing Slightly): He's my Best friend, not my boyfriend.

Jim: He can be Pope from Rome; I don't care. Just take him.

Cameron: But his flat is fixed and he doesn't live with You anymore.

Jim: He came to visit me.

Morse (entering the room with a grin): Miss me?

Jim flinched so hard he spilled his tea.

Cameron nods.

Cameron:I’m taking him with me.

Jim bursts into tears of joy. 

Jim:Thank the gods. The walls talk now.

Cameron ( to Morse): What did You do to Jim?

Jim( intrerupting): He ruined my will to live.

Cameron( lights cigarette using her Light powers):Sounds like a typical day with Morse.

Jim: You’re all lunatics.

      Morse and Cameron left, and Jim closed the door. And locked it. And blocked Morse's number for six hours. Only six cause they are friends.

      The End.

Chapter Text

      Chapter 1

  The first warm rays of sun passed through windows edged by brown curtains, casting long shadows and landing on the dishelved matress and blanket from the bed. A small ray passed from the higher corner of the window, spilling on the faces of William and Julia, the latter one resting her head on her husband's shoulder. William blinked for multiple times, adjusting to the light of sun from the morning.

He carefully and slowly got down from bed, avoiding to accidentaly sit on her long, blond hair spilled across the pillows and to wake her up.

    Murdoch tip-toed until outside the bedroom, then washed up in the bathroom and changed his pajamas with his impecable three-pieces Brown suit, bowler hat and polished black shoes. He took one more glance at his wife and Sussanah, their four year old daughter who sleept peacefully on her bed, then left to the station house number 4, closing the door silently behind him.

     Murdoch rode his bike to the station house, passing by pedestrians, students who went to courses, teachers and other workers, enjoying the Light and clean Sky and the historical buildings of the Oxford, the sweet scent of flowers floating in the air through the streets.Birds chirped from thier hidden places on the trees, and the city had his usual humm of life.

     The Detective arrived quickly, observing that the station house was as loud and cheerful as ever, people coming in through the double dark heavy wooden doors from the main entrance, and Constables Morrison and Paul guarding them. Murdoch greeted them, then walked in , welcomed by the sound of typing, writing and chatting. He walked past by the constables' desks when Detective Sergeant Cameron Grey, his superior, in Light blue wide leg jeans, a white Button up shirt, a denim jacket and sneakers,stopped him, holding a report in one hand and a sandwich in the other.

Murdoch: Ah, good morning ,Miss Grey.

Cameron: Morning, Murdoch. And stop calling me ,,Miss Grey", it feels too...formal.

Murdoch: Ugh, sure...Sergeant.

Cameron( snorted): You got me here.I didn't Tell You exactly how to call me..Anyway, I've got a case for You. A murder on the Observatory Street, at the nothern edge of Jericho.

Murdoch : A murder, I see. Why didn't you..

Cameron( taking a bite from the sandwich): took the case? ' cause I have another murder to solve in the other part of the city, on the Chinese ward. Crabtree and dr. Robert Harrison are waiting You there. 

Murdoch: Good. Then I will go.

Cameron( taking another bite): Mhm. Sure. See You later then.

  ______________________________________________

          Murdoch took the corner with his bike and saw clearly in front of an old house the Constables securing the crime scene and the photographer taking photos of the scene. And as soon as he came closer, he saw dr Harrison, the pathologist, sitting with his legs under him and checking the dead body of the victim, a man.

       The Detective got down from the bike and let it next to the police car, walking to his colleagues. George Crabtree saw him first, and welcomed him first.

Crabtree ( to Murdoch): Morning, sir.

Murdoch( taking down his bowler hat, crossing himself and putting it back on his Head): Morning, George. What do we have here?

Crabtree: Sir, a pedestrian found him at 7 o'clock here.

Murdoch: And where îs this pedestrian?

Crabtree( pointing behind them, at Constable Jackson and an auburn-haired woman): Miss Ashley Traylen, student at St John’s College. She was walking for courses when She found the dead body and called the police. Constable Jackson's taking her a declaration.

Murdoch: Very well, George.

      Murdoch approached the doctor exactly when he stood up and took of his gloves, dusting of his hands.

Murdoch( saluting with his hat): Doctor.

Robert Harrison ( turning to the Detective, cheerful): Ah, Detective Murdoch! Nice to see You!

Murdoch: Um, Nice to see You too.What did You find, doctor?

Robert Harrison: The victim is a Man in his early to mid-forties. No documents or identification signs, no signs of physical attack. Judging by the early state of rigor mortis, I would Say that he died 4-6 hours ago.

Murdoch: But he could have been poisoned?

Robert Harrison( adjusting his bracelet): Absolutely. But first I have to do the autopsy. Hm, 3 o'clock sounds well? I have other two guys back at the morgue who died on a car accident. They tought that overtakimg other cars will Make them gods of streets; turns out, they made them angels.

Murdoch: If You Discover Something by the time-

Robert: I know, I know, call You. How's doctor Ogden? I haven't seen her since she took the full time job at the hospital.( He headed to his car)

Murdoch( walking by his side),: She had a night shift and I left her sleeping.

Robert: Remembers me of some days in college..dr. Grace told me to ask about her, wanting to go to a girl's night.

Murdoch: She can call her later, Julia's free tomorrow.

Robert( in the car, revviving the engine): Good, I'll tell her. Remember, 3 o'clock the autopsy. The Constables will Carry the dead body to the morgue as soon as possible.

       The doctor started his car , a sleek black BMW Z4, and drove off, leaving Murdoch with the constables who were ready to finish there and leave. Crabtree, who carried a box, stopped when the Detective stood in his way.

Murdoch: George, I need the declarations of the neighbours. Maybe they saw something during night. After all, this street isn't empty.

Crabtree: Yes, sir. 

George said, and hurried away with his box of forms, smooth and eager as ever. Murdoch remained for a few moments, watching the constables finish cordoning off the yard and the photographer angle his last shot. The morning had stretched thin and bright across the street; the ordinary motions of the city—bicycles, deliveries, a dog being walked—made the violence of the morning feel, absurdly, almost out of place.

He threaded his way back to his bicycle, palms still dusted with the fine print of notepaper and the ghost of the hat’s ribbon on his forehead. At the station house the bustle had not lessened: someone was arguing with a woman at the front desk about a lost umbrella; a radio murmured, half-singing, half-muttering, in the corner. Murdoch tipped his hat to Constable Morrison and then walked to the spacious room he thought of as his, containing a chair, a large desk with various gadgets and folders and noticeboard of pinned memos and the occasional photograph.

He set his hat down, unhooked his watch and ran one hand over the face of it, thinking of Julia’s sleeping hair and the light across her cheek. The thought steadied him the way a small, exact ritual steadied other men; he put the watch back and turned his attention to the case.

______________________________________________

Murdoch (as Crabtree reappeared with a notepad already half filled): Find anything from the neighbors?

George (spread his hands): All spent the night. Windows closed. Old Mrs. Penfold says she heard the clock strike three and nothing else. Mr. Hayward heard some carts in the distance but—(he shrugged).No voices, no quarrels. Miss Traylen—she’s still shaken but says she found him and called straight away.

Murdoch read and re-read the statements. They were clean in their way that made him uneasy: precise, apologetic, full of the little asides people add to mark themselves decent and helpful. Nothing to follow. He asked Crabtree to take another run at the houses with Constable Jackson, to make sure the statements were verbatim, to press for anything—an unfamiliar footfall, a stray sound. Crabtree nodded and left, trudging toward the corner where the reporters were starting to gather.

Murdoch spent the next hours in small, unproductive routines. He checked the street for cameras—there were a couple, mounted on lamp-posts at odd angles designed to miss things—and he noted the impossibility of getting a clear view for the hours in which the man had died. He examined the victim’s shoes again, less for trace than to occupy his hands, and rifled through pockets that were, as Dr. Harrison had said, bare of identification. An empty cigarette packet, a matchbox with the corner torn, a single ticket stub for some theatre or other—those scraps told him nothing he could lean on.

       Murdoch sighed and put his magnifying glass down on the desk. There were no evidence, no trace about the attacker, and still, the man was murdered..but how? He always found something, anything to catch on and discover a theory related about the events..but this case was different.

       Even in the lunch break, the Detective looked blankly at his food and didn't bother to eat , too immersed on his thoughts. He absently poked the spaghettis from his bowl when a hand, with long, slim fingers with a blue -band ring on the middle one, placed a fresh and hot cup of tea next to his bowl. Looking up, Murdoch saw the hand's owner: Cameron, and next to her, Constable Charlie Clark.

Cameron( leaning with her elbows on the table): How's going the Murder, Murdoch? Did You find something?

Murdoch: Actually, Sergeant, I am close to a dead End.

Cameron raised an eyebrow, while Charlie stopped mid-chewing his donut.

Cameron: Wait, are You serious? You usually have a theory or something shortly after the begining of the investigation.

Murdoch: This time, I have nothing except for the dead body. Maybe Dr. Harrison discovered something usefull.

Charlie: Maybe, maybe not. ( To Cameron). Hey, this case looks like a Harry Houdini magic number! Like, no trace , but somehow, the trick still happened.

Cameron: Seriously, Charlie?

Charlie( snorted): Oh, don't act like You didn't like the comparision.

Cameron( rolling eyes): I did. But it won't help Murdoch in his investigation.

     Murdoch ignored the banter between those two and took a look at his vintage pocket watch. The break was quick to end and it was just one more hour until the autopsy. He got up mid-banter( the banter switched to cars), took his hat, excused himself and, with determination, headed for morgue.

______________________________________________

      The morgue squatted behind the hospital, a low building of brick and iron, freshly painted white and with new, modern windows, smelling faintly of disinfectant and the cold air of cellars. He left his bicycle and passed a new light Brown wooden door that shut with a measured thud. Inside, the corridor lights hummed, and as the Detective walked, the soft humming of a rock song reached his ears.The walk felt longer than it should, but he didn't bother.

     Murdoch walked into the examination room, where dr Harrison, in his flared jeans, Button up shirt, white lab coat , apron and long gloves, was writing something into a report at his desk. The younger Man saw him and got up quickly, hands clasped, standing next to the slab.

Robert: I see You made it, Detective. Let's get to the business, shall we?

Murdoch: What did You find?

Robert( taking down the blanket from the dead body's face): Well, as I said, the victim is a Man in his early to mid-forties. I didn't found any tattos , dubious illnesses or other possible identificatation signs.

Murdoch: And the cause of death?

Robert: Well, our guy here died around 1 to 2 AM this day, the cause of death being asfixiation.( Opening with two fingers one eye of the dead Man, pointing at the redness). As You see, he has petepetechial hemorrhage that confirms me the asfixiation.

Murdoch: Does it show any signs of physical attack?

Robert: No, there are no signs. And even more surprinsingly, there are no poisons or strange substances in his organism.

Murdoch( confused): Are You sure? 

Robert( nodding Seriously): Very sure. I ran all the tests.

     Murdoch crouched and took a better look at the victim's face, neck and hands, looking for any signs of dirt or other materials.

Robert( smirking): Well, Murdoch, looks like You deal with a professional assassin.

Murdoch: I doubt that in Oxford are professional assassins. And even If they are, they should leave an evidence of their presence.

Robert: Are You sure, Detective? Because this kind of people are like shadows: once the sun rises, they dissapear entiterly. I can Tell You from experience.

Murdoch: Then what should I do?

Robert( taking of his gloves, giving Murdoch a smug smirk): You're the Detective, not me. You're the one that solves crimes. I just dissect dead bodies all day and tell what killed these poor souls...(Takes a cigarette, lights it and takes a drag) well, not all are ,,poor", but You get what I mean.

Murdoch( sighs): Thank you for help, dr. Harrison.

Robert( sitting at his desk, taking a pen): Good luck with your misterious guy. I will keep studying him, maybe I'll find something I missed before.

       The Detective adjusted his bowler hat on his Head and left, closing the door gently behind him. Walking down the corridor, with his footsteps echoing as his leather shoes touched the cold tile floor, Murdoch realised something about his current case: it wasn't like something he had ever dealt before.

     To be continued....

Chapter Text

         Chapter 2

     The sound of high-heels clattering rythmicaly echoed down the hallway of the Cowley Station House, blending in with the typing sound and the loud chatter of constables.  

      Miss Phryne Fisher, glamorous and elegant as ever in a pair of black high heels, a navy blue skirt suit, a purse and a white blouse, marched toward the back of the room with the confidence only She could muster. The Constables couldn't help, but turn their heads toward her, expressing their admiration in various degrees. There, in the last desk and backed by the old, big folders' cabinet, Morse was laser focused on a document, his blue eyes narrowed as he read. Golden sun rays passed through the window, making Morse's Ginger-coppery hair appear even lighter, high-lighting the golden streakes and roots.

       The lady detective smiled, and when she arrived at his desk, She sat on the edge of it, one leg drapped over the other as She adjusted her skirt.

Miss Fisher: Hello, darling.

Morse( not looking up from his papers): Aren't You supposed to work?

Miss Fisher: As a private detective, I have the advantage to have a more free schedule...and more freedom.

Morse: More freedom to pester the others, actually.

Miss Fisher ( ruffling a curl from his hair): Why are You so grumpy, darling? You look like a kicked out hot English poet.

Morse( looking from his papers, deadpean): What do You want?

Miss Fisher ( playing innocent): Who says I want something ? Maybe I just dropped by to see You.

Morse: From what I know, You never come to someone unless You need Something. 

Miss Fisher ( She places her hand next to his): Hm...maybe I came to see what hides beneath those crisp dress shirts ....

Morse( blushing slighlty, shifts uncomfortable): Just get to the subject, can't You? 

Miss Fisher(rolling her eyes, taking a paper from her bra): Fine.You are no fun, sweetie. 

Morse( leaning on his chair, arms crossed): Well? What do You need?

Miss Fisher: It's not necesarry about what I need, but about what others may need.

      The Sergeant took the photo from her hands and took a better look. The photo was of a tall and well-built man, wearing an expensive navy suit with a black tie and white Button up shirt, Golden buttons gleaming from the cuffs, and black sleeked hair, looking every ounce of a rich and respectull man in his fourties.

Morse( looking confused, then titling his Head): And who do You Say is this man?

Miss Fisher leaned closer to Morse, her bows' tails brushing Morse's shirt sleeve.

Miss Fisher: Patrick Hatcher. He has a huge farm in Scotland and many properties across Wales, Scotland..

Morse: And Melbourne, I can Guess.

Miss Fisher: A woman needs what it needs, Morse. You can't stop a woman's needs, can you?

Morse: Don't deviate from subject.

Miss Fisher: Fine. Mr. Hatcher dissapeared two days ago from his vile at the outskirts of Wolverhamptom and his wife called me to find him.

Morse( turning the photo, looking at the Man): Why didn't She call the police?

Miss Fisher ( taking the photo from his hands and putting it back in the bra): Because She doesn't trust police.

Morse: And You Say his name is Patrick Hatcher?

Miss Fisher: Yes, darling. And I came at you because I can't access official reports and I need someone's help..

     She trassed a finger down his shoulder to the arm, feeling the tense muscles from beneath, honed by years of training in ninjutsu and kenjutsu.

Miss Fisher:..someone who wants justice and isn't affraid to dive in some darker business..

     She liked the texture of his dress shirt, the feeling of the heat coming from him... Morse gently took her hand and put it away from his shoulder, glaring at her.

Morse: Listen. I will help You, but stop playing your games. I'm not falling for You, Miss Fisher. For God's sake, You're ten years older then me.

Miss Fisher( sighs): Cameron was right when She said You're serious, disciplined and no-nonsense.

Morse( ignoring her comment): Anyway, I don't think your Patrick Hatcher is who he says he is.

Miss Fisher leaned closer, intrigued, her Green eyes sparkling with curiosity and a sane dose of mischief.

Miss Fisher: What do You mean?

Morse( leaning on his desk): I mean that the man You are looking for is the same person are we looking for: Bryan Garner. Two days ago, a woman named Melissa Fegley reported his dissapearence from their house in St Bernard's Road. Miss Fegley gave us his photo and told us he went missing after he left for work as a postman.

Miss Fisher: Isn't this interesting? A man with two lifes.

         Morse didn't Hear her last comment as he opened his drawer and took out his laptop, placing it on the free space of his desk. He opened it fast and started typing on the keyboard like a pianist during a pianoforte song.

        The Black haired woman got down from the desk and walked behind him, her skirt swishing as She moved, then leaned on the back of his chair.

Miss Fisher: What are You doing?

Morse( looking on the screen): I know it's not the most justified method. I use it only in emergency cases and told by DCI Thursday, but.. I feel like now it's one of those Times when hacking can help us solve the case.

Miss Fisher ( entartained): Oh, sweetie, I didn't know You have this side.

      The sergent typed faster, the screen's blue light casting on his Slender fingers. It took him five minutes, but finally, he managed to acces the e-mails of the dissapeared man.

Morse: There it is. Our suspect has three e-mail adresses: Patrick Hatcher, Bryan Garner and ...John Dutton.( Quickly Reading the latest e-mails from the first two accounts). Nothing unusual here. Maybe we have better chances with the third one.

       Shortly after he accesed the third account, both detectives were surprised by the fact that there were only 3 e-mails, all send by a single expeditor named ,, FC". Morse clicked on each of them, reading carefully the contents; but the third one was the most important.

( The third email message).

   ,,Go to Observatory Street, Jericho, to deliver the packet. You will be given further instructions."

Miss Fisher:..can You acces the ,,FC" account?

Morse( already trying): I can, but If I do it, they will be alarmed about my attempt to hack their e-mail account. And for this crime I can be arrested and go to jail.

       The lady detective stood upright, adjusting her bow, while Morse closed his laptop and stood up, putting on his jacket and the trench-coat.

Miss Fisher( mischevious): Looks like You're ready for action, darling.

Morse( ready): Something isn't right with this case. I don't know why, but my instinct tells me that it's a darker and bigger stake then I initially thought..And we have to investigate.

     The woman took out her car keys from her purse, dingling from her left index finger, suggesting the blond Man that She wants to drive. He sighed, and after a short round of arguing( mostly Morse arguing and Miss Fisher being the mischevious, playful lady She is), they agreed to go with her car , but Morse drove.

Miss Fisher: If You scratch my car's paint, You owe me a dinner; and a bottle of whiskey, of course( then She winked).

      Morse rolled his eyes and revvived the engine, then started fast the Porsche.

To be continued....

Chapter Text

     Chapter 3 

   The sound of cars honking echoed strongly in the air. It was the rush hour in Oxford, one of the worst moments to drive your car, and still, Morse and Miss Fisher did it.

   The Detective Sergeant's jaw was tight, his grip on the wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. He glared, like If he did this, the trafic will vanish.

    The lady detective, on the other hand, was leaning against the door, admiring her perfectly-done nails with crimson red polish. In one point, She searched in her purse and took out her lipstick and a small mirror to adjust her make-up.

Morse( side-eyeing her): You must me joking.

Miss Fisher ( mid- applying lipstick): Oh, but darling, I'm not joking. A woman, as I told You, has her habits and her needs. And one her needs is to look good despite the event.

Morse: Well, Cameron never uses make-up and she's a woman.

Miss Fisher: Ah, but Cameron is tomboysh-revolutionary, while I am feminine-revolutionary.

Morse( raising an eyebrow): Are You serious?

Miss Fisher didn't respond him imeaditly, but instead finished applying her lipstick with a swift, practiced move, and closed the small mirror with satisfaction, puting her things in her purse and turning to Morse.

Miss Fisher ( trying to hide a smirk): You have so much to learn about women, Morse. But let me Tell You Something: women are like Mysteries. You will learn about them, but You won't fully understand them.

Morse: This sounds like a challenge for me.

Miss Fisher: One that You can't win, dear.

         Morse turned his look back to the road, and imeaditly after the cars started to move and the road to get cleaner, he drove, heading to their destination.

Miss Fisher: So, Morse, we go to the Observatory Street.

Morse: Yes. And we are going to talk to the people living there. Maybe they have seen or know something about our John Dutton that can help us in investigation. After all, I think that is the last place we was seen.

 Miss Fisher: Then You should take right, not left!

       The Fire Guardian took the curbe to right in the last second so hard that the tired screeched against the asphalt. Miss Fisher even held her hat, so hard was the turn.

Morse: Sorry for the sharp turn.

Miss Fisher( smiling): That's nothing. This baby( She patted the door to indicate the car) have done crazier turns.

______________________________________________

          The red Porsche stopped on the Observatory Street, in front of an old house made from reddish bricks. The two detectives got out from the car and marched toward the house's front door, passing the garden with beautiful roses, the small patio and the short stairs.

 Morse adjustied the collar of his shirt and knocked on the door a couple of times.

Morse( to Miss Fisher): Please, don't try anything mischevious.

Miss Fisher ( rolling her green eyes): If You Say so.

       They waited a few moments before the door was opened, and there, a small, well-built woman in her 50s, with long Brown hair and a floral dress, stood, leaning one hand on the frame.

The woman: Hello. Can I help You?

Morse( showing his warrant card): Detective Sergeant Morse, Oxford City Police and Detective Constable Phryne Fisher.

The woman: Huh, weren't you bere earlier?

Morse( confused): What do You mean, Mrs...

The woman: Penfold. Mrs Jennifer Penfold. And what I meant to say was that the police already here, asking if we heard or saw something last night related to the crime.

Morse( taking notes in his notepad): Related to what crime, Mrs Penfold?

Mrs Penfold: To the murder of a poor man. He was found by a girl from St John's College this morning.

       Morse stopped writing for a moment. So, their missing person, John Dutton, could be dead. Could, but he didn't have the proove of this thought.

Miss Fisher( taking the photo of the Man from her purse): Do You know him?

      Mrs Penfold took the photo in her hands with care, like it was a fragile piece of glass, and looked at the man from it. She returned the photo, looking even more confused.

Mrs Penfold: No, I don't recognise him. Should I do? Is he the dead man?

Miss Fisher: Yes, we-

Morse( intervening, serious): We are investigating the dissapearence of the Man You saw in the photo, Mrs. Penfold. And we suspect that this is the last place our missing person went.

       The lady detective side- eyed the younger man, her painted lips pressed in a tight line. The Detective Sergeant, on his hand, didn't observe or flinch and continued the interrogation.

Mrs Penfold: Well, I know nothing about your case, officer. 

Morse: Hm...and how about the officers that came before us? Do You remember them?

Mrs Penfold:... If I remember right..one of the constables was Crab..Crab-tea? Crab-ee? Something odd, in any case.

Morse: You mean Constable George Crabtree.

Mrs Penfold: Yes, that was his name! 

Morse: Interesting..Hm.. I think You helped us enough, Mrs. Penfold.

Mrs. Penfold: If this is all, then I will return to my show. Have a good day, officers!

        And with that, the old Mrs. Penfold closed the door pretty loud behind them,so the Fire Guardian and lady detective walked back to the Porsche. The Sergeant was satisfied with the informations, and just as he was halfway to the car..

Thwack!

   Miss Fisher hit Morse with her purse , pointing the harder part toward his side. He stumbled, then froze for a second, and understood what just happen to him.

Morse: Hey! What do You think are You doing?

Miss Fisher( mischevious smirk): Revenging for hushing me, sweetie. This is what You get for trying to make a woman to shut up.

Morse( annoyed): You were going to tell her everything, I couldn't let You do that.

Miss Fisher: I was trying to obtain her trust, to make her talk, not pierce her soul like someone I know.

Morse: As a real police officer, I don't need to tell the suspects everything about the investigation, with a big, loud and obnoxious-

Thwack!

     Miss Fisher hit him again with the purse, this time reaching his shoulder and part of the cheek.

Morse( pissed of, voice a bit raised then usuall): This is harrasment! You are assaulting a police officer and consists a crime that results in arresting.

Miss Fisher ( defiant): Then come on, darling. Do it. This isn't the first time when I get arrested. But I'm warning You, I can be very...noisy when caged.

       Morse crossed his arms and glared, while Miss Fisher hold her purse and smirked, her Green eyes sparkling with mischief. He knew her well enough to tell that she was going to keep her promise, especially if it involved pissing off the others and making their time miserable.

      The blond man sighed, Head slumped in defeat.

Morse( normal tone): Fine. I'm not going to arrest You. And I won't hush You anymore unless it's absolutely necesarry.

Miss Fisher smiled and let her hand on his shoulder, lingering a bit longer then should, and climbed in the car, followed by him.

   Morse put the keys in contact and turned them on, the car's engine purring like a cat. His slender hand moved and gripped the gearshift lever, ready to drive.

    She looked at him and , after a few moments, She slowly extend her hand toward him.

Miss Fisher: Peace?

    He looked at her hand, then at her face that, for the first time in a while, showed honesty. He looked at her shiny black hair, at her diamond-peared earrings that reflected the light, and since she came with him, remarked a sweet scent of perfume, most probably expensive, coming from her.. With a bit of hesitation, he grabbed her hand and gave her a shake, feeling in his hand her delicate hand and the surprinsiny coldness of her ring.

Morse: Peace will be.

Miss Fisher: Good. Now, looks like our Dutton is dead and on Robert Harrison's slab from morgue.

Morse( scoffed): You don't know that for sure.

Miss Fisher: And You can't deny it either. Whatever happened to him, we will find out after Murdoch and company spill the beans.( Pauses).I think we should visit Cameron's station house next, shall we?

      He didn't need to be told twice. He started the car fast, the tires screeching as he drove, agreeing with her idea and, in premiere, trusting her instinct.

    To be continued......

Chapter Text

         Chapter 4

     Station House Number 4 hummed with quiet efficiency, its polished oak floors gleaming beneath brass lamps that cast a warm, amber glow. Dark wooden desks bore the weight of neatly stacked case files, typewriters, and rotary phones, while bulletin boards sagged under a patchwork of wanted posters, missing-person notices, and faded newspaper clippings. The scent of leather, ink, and lingering polish mingled with the faint whir of computers tucked into corners. 

      In his organised and peacefull office, Detective William Murdoch stood at his desk, reading and re-reading the declarations of the neighbours, hoping to find a clue he may have missed. His arms rested on the desk, papers held with the tips of his slightly calloused and tanned fingers.

Murdoch( to himself): There must be something. The victim's murderer couldn't have vanished without leaving an evidence, this is a scientifical prooved theory.

     He focused on his work, the world around him a buzzling backround sound. He ignored everything, even the knocking sound on his wooden door. Then the door opened and George Crabtree peeked inside.

Crabtree: Sir?

Murdoch ( putting the papers on his desk, looking at the Constable): What is it, George?

Crabtree: Inspector Brackenreid wants to talk to you, sir. In his office.

Murdoch ( already standing up): Alright. Thank You George.

Crabtree: Also, Detective Sergeant Grey asks how is your case developing.

Murdoch: Tell her that it progresses very slowly.

        With somehow hesitation, he walked straight at the inspector's officers, carefully not to bump into constables, civilians and desks. 

        He knocked on the door, and he was answered by the gruff, with a thick Yorkshire accent Voice of his boss, that told him to come in.

        Inside, Inspector Brackenreid was standing at his desk, holding a glass of whisky. His hat and the coat rested on the back of his chair, while his black vest above the white button up shirt barely resisted to not pop a button. 

Murdoch: Good afternoon, sir. Constable Crabtree told me that you want to see me.

Brackenreid: Yes.Take a sit, Murdoch. It will take a while to discuss the business.

     The Detective obeyed, took a chair and sat on it, adjusting his vest and tie.

Brackenreid took a sip from his glass and shrugged.

Brackenreid: How is the case doing?

Murdoch ( adjusting nervously his collar): Not very well, sir. I couldn't find any evidence or witnessses and couldn't even identify the victim.

Brackenreid: How did the man die?

Murdoch: Dr Harrison says that the victim died around 1 to 2 AM this day, the cause of death being asphyxiation. However, he couldn't discover what caused the asphyxiation.

    The red head Man took another sip from his glass and opened a drawer , taking the whisky bottle and pourring him more alcohol.

Brackenreid: Bloody hell. And now You're stuck, You Say?

Murdoch: Yes, sir.

    The Inspector though for a solid couple of minutes, thinking what to do next. He took a good sip from the glass and placed it pretty loud on the desk.

Brackenreid: Alright. I have already enough problems with those Chinese people that refuse to talk. Yesterday, two of them had a fight while you were at the crime scene of your case. And they know martial arts. Martial arts! Only Grey managed to stop them without getting a good ol' beat. So about your case...If You can't find anything to solve it until tomorrow evening, I'm closing the case. Understood?

Murdoch ( not to satisfied): Yes.

Brackenreid: Good. Now go back to work, soon Sergeant Grey will give me the report about her case.

      Murdoch saluted and walked out, the door closing silently behind him as his shoulders slumped in defeat. How could he solve the case in such a short time, considering the lack of evidence? And what about the victim? How to let a crime became a lost footnote in the annals of crime? He really wanted to solve the case, but the odds seemed to be against him.

       Feeling defeated, he walked back to his office and closed the door, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, elbows propped on the table.

______________________________________________

       Across the street, Miss Fisher's red Porsche stopped next to a trash bin, and a group of pedestrians took secretly photos of the car. Morse and Miss Fisher got down from the car, he running a hand through his hair while She straighted her skirt.

Morse( to Miss Fisher, small smirk): I don't think he'll be to happy to see me.

Miss Fisher: More like You aren't happy to see him.

      They crossed the street, then walked the Ancient outside stairs, the concrete bumpy from years of weather and passing people.

Morse: Fine. He doesn't mind me, but I don't like him too much.

        He pushed the door open and let the black haired woman enter first, then followed inside.

       They stopped at the reception desk where Constable Hodge , with a start of baldness and grey hair at temples, was sorting documents, packages and other papers, calm and surprinsingly not bored.

Miss Fisher shrugged, while Morse waited behind her, looking like he was brooding...again.

Miss Fisher: Good afternoon, Constable!

     Constable Hodge turned from his papers to the woman and smiled weakly.

Hodge: Afternoon, madam. How can I help You?

Miss Fisher: Is Detective William Murdoch currently at the station house?

Hodge: Uh, yes. The Detective is in his office. Why do You ask?

Miss Fisher: Let's Say that I have some business with him to solve.

      The old Constable looked confused and scratched the back of his neck, then went back to his work.

Miss Fisher ( passing by Morse, brushing intentionally his shoulder): See, darling. Not everything has to be done in a dark style.

      Morse rolled his eyes and followed her, navigating the crowd, and secretly looking after Cameron. Miss Fisher observed how he looked around, sometimes raising his head, and couldn't resist to not taunt him a bit.

Miss Fisher: Looking for someone, darling? Perhaps for...I don't know...someone special?

Morse tried to keep a serious expression, but the pink blush creeping on his cheeks betrayed him.

Morse: Uh, no, I'm not looking, I mean-

Miss Fisher( gently placing her index finger to her lips): Relax, I'm not telling anyone. And I still need you sharp, so I won't stung You..too much.

       The Detective Sergeant bit his lower lip and continued his walk, cursing himself for his ignorance toward the woman's sixth sense.

        Finally, they reached the office, and the wooden door with a glass portion and big caps reading ,, Detective W. Murdoch" assured them that they reached the right place.

      Morse knockned pretty hard, and shortly after, the Detective told them to come in.

Murdoch( looking in his papers): Did You find something, George?

Morse( frowned): I'm not Crabtree, Murdoch. Do I look like a naive and hyperactive writer to you?

Murdoch( finally looking up, adjusting his bowler hat): Morse. I… wasn’t expecting you. What are you doing here?

Miss Fisher( stepping lightly into the room, smirking): Oh, Murdoch, darling. Don’t act so surprised. I thought you might need a little… assistance.

Murdoch( narrowing his eyes, slightly suspicious): Assistance? From you two? And why exactly would I need help that I haven’t asked for?

Morse( closing the door, leaning against a wall): Let’s just say we’ve been tracking and discovered that our missing person is the same with your victim.

Murdoch: I see. And you think barging in unannounced will make this easier?

Miss Fisher( tilting her head, teasingly): Oh, Murdoch… sometimes you need a bit of chaos to wake the mind. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that.

Murdoch: You know very well I don't like chaos.

Morse(leaning against the edge of Murdoch’s desk, serious ): Well, too bad, because chaos follows us everywhere. And also, we need your help , and even more, You need our help.

        Murdoch wanted to Say Something but stopped, remembering the deadline Inspector Brackenreid gave him and his determination to solve the case. He didn't want to work with Morse and Miss Fisher, but he had to.

Murdoch ( sighs): Fine. What have You to discovered?

Miss Fisher ( smirking): Looks like You accept our deal, dear.

Murdoch: Just...get to the point.

         Miss Fisher made herself confortable in the chair, while Morse stood on his feet at the edge of Murdoch's desk.

Morse: Listen, we have discovered that the missing person Miss Fisher and I were looking for can be actually the dead man You have to deal with.

      Miss Fisher took the photo from her purse and handed it to Murdoch who seemed surprised. He gave her back the photo and looked at the Sergeant.

Morse: So?

Murdoch: Indeed, he is the victim. What have You discovered?

Morse: The man's name is John Dutton, but has also two different identities with the names Bryan Garner and Patrick Hatcher, one a postman and the other a rich business man.

Murdoch leaned in interested.

Morse: John Dutton's last e-mail was from someone with the name ,,FC" in which Dutton was send to the Observatory Street, in Jericho.

Murdoch: There is the place where the dead body was found.

Miss Fisher: And this is why we came to You.

Murdoch ( standing up): Unfornutely, I don't have any evidence about him.

Morse( raising an eyebrow): And the autopsy report?

Murdoch: John Dutton or whoever he is died around 1 to 2 AM, asphyxiated. However, there are no signs of physical attack or strange substances that can explain this.

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the faint ticking of Murdoch’s wall clock. Miss Fisher leaned back, crossing her legs, her gaze never leaving the detective’s face, while Morse’s arms folded tightly across his chest, his jaw clenched.

Murdoch rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the case pressing down on him. The office seemed smaller somehow, the air thick with anticipation.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured.

Murdoch: If there’s no physical evidence, no witnesses… then we’re left with conjecture. Purely circumstantial.

Morse ( having a stroke of genius): I'm not so sure about this, Murdoch.

Murdoch( raising an eyebrow): Is that so?

Morse: You see, I think I know how our victim died and who killed it. And also, I think that Melissa Fegley didn't tell us everything.

Miss Fisher: You Say that She lied about him?

Murdoch: This is actually pretty possible. A Man who walks from home in the middle of the night to deliver who knows what can't pass without being observed by someone in the house.

Morse: You need to call her here for interogation, Murdoch. And I need more details about the dead body.

      Reluctantly, Murdoch walked out of his office to tell some constable to bring Miss Fegley at the station house. Meanwhile, Morse and Miss Fisher headed to the morgue, the younger man already feeling his stomach unease thinking that he'll walk in a place with cadavers.

Miss Fisher: Do You have a theory about what happened, dear?

Morse: I think I know what happened. But I am not sure yet and I need some more prooves.

    To be continued.......

Chapter Text

      Chapter 5

    The faint smell of disinfectant lingered in the cold air. The neon lights from the ceiling casted long shadows down the hallway, and the sound of high heels clattering on the tile floor echoed like in a canyon

    The Fire Guardian took short glances at the lady detective and bit his lower lip till it turned a strong shade of pink, feeling cold sweat on his forehead. He hated going to the morgue because he felt so unconfortable near dead bodies. And he hated even more the fact that he was scared of dead bodies. It was an irational fear( he knew very well that cadavers can't do nothing), but it still affected him. However, he refused to show it, especially after his first case when he fainted and Thursday caught him( Morse felt so embarrassed then, despite his boss' fatherly approach); so he swore that no one, except Thursday and Cameron, would know about his fear.

       Naturally, he tried with all his will to not combust. And naturally, Miss Fisher spotted his nervousness.

Miss Fisher( titling her head): What's wrong, dear?

Morse( trying to play cool): Nothing.

Miss Fisher: You seem nervous.

Morse: I'm not nervous, Miss Fisher.  

        The Black haired woman observed his stiff posture, his fists clenched at his sides, the way he bit his lower lip..she didn't buy his lie, but also didn't push him, since She needed his help.

       As they came closer, the sound of a pen scratching against paper and soft tapping of a foot become louder, signaling them that the pathologyst was in his office.

     The Detective Sergeant knocked on the door, and almost imeaditly, Dr. Harrison opened in and stood on one side of the door, gesturing them to come in. The two detectives came in, stopping next to the covered body from the slab.

Robert Harrison (as he sat on his office chair, one hand on the back of the chair): So, which wind brings You here: southwesterly wind or Southerly Buster?

Morse: More like Chinook.

Robert Harrison: Hm, did Murdoch send You here or what?

Miss Fisher: It's a long story, dear. But for now, we need to tell us about your mysterious guest here on the slab.

Robert: Ah, you mean Murdoch's case. 

      The doctor took his mug from the desk and took a sip, the smell of fresh green tea filling the room.

Robert: Well, I will tell what I told Murdoch If he didn't tell You.

Morse: Actually he did, but we came here to talk to you. You and us, from a ninja to another ninja and a pretty good fighter( his discretly looked at Miss Fisher).

Robert: I see... So You think that I found a theory, but I didn't Tell Murdoch because it may spill too much about us?

Morse: Yes. Now, I suspect how the victim died, but I'm not in measure to confirm it because I am not a doctor.

       Robert Harrison looked from the lanky Detective Sergeant to the lady detective, fidgening with his mug. 

Robert: What do You suspect, Morse?

Morse: I know it sounds crazy and that we have no solid prooves about these, but..I think that a trained assassin, a ninja, killed the man, using the pressure-point knockout technique.

Robert( titling his Head): Wait, in Oxford, weren't we, Cameron, you , Jakes that left in America and I, the only ninjas?

Morse: So You think that it was that technique.

Robert: If I think better, yes, actually, this could have killed him. And makes sense, the pressure point blocks the circulation to brain and caused the hemoragy and the asphyxiation..and leaves no signs...But You didn't answer my question: are in Oxford other ninjas?

     Morse hesitated, only because If he told him about the existance of the Foot Clan, then thought he would have had to Tell Robert about the turtles and he couldn't talk about their secret existance. He considered his options, and decided.

Morse: Yes. A clan that came from Japan and wanted to settle a base in this city. The Foot Clan.

Robert( snorted): Foot Clan?! What kind of name is this? They could have better called themselves The Dirty Hands Clan..

Morse( serious): Don't joke about it, doctor. They are very dangerous.

Robert( asking the fatal question): Fine. And who brought them here? 

Morse( lying partially): I don't know. But I know that they have evil plans and I won't let them finish this city. Not over my cold, dead body.

______________________________________________

       Later, after thier return to the station house, Miss Fegley arrived, escorted by two constables to the Interviews Room.

    The interview room was small, almost claustrophobic, its walls bare except for a single clock that ticked with unnerving precision. A dim bulb hummed above, casting shadows that stretched long across the polished wooden table.

Miss Fegley sat stiffly in her chair, her pale hands twisting the handle of her purse. She avoided everyone’s gaze, her lips pressed tight as if any word might betray her. However, she mentained a cold , distanta and unreadable face.

Murdoch stood across her, then placed a file on the table with deliberate care, his calm voice cutting through the silence.

Murdoch: Miss Fegley, thank you for coming. We won’t take more of your time than necessary. But it is important that you answer truthfully.

She glanced at him, then at the others — Miss Fisher lounging with an amused smirk, Morse leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes sharp and unreadable.

Murdoch (sliding the victim’s photo across the table): Do you recognize this man?

Miss Fegley forced herself to look, her eyes cold like the ones of a general from the army.

Fegley( serious): My cousin. Bryan Garner.

Morse’s voice came, clipped and direct.

Morse: Or John Dutton. Or Patrick Hatcher. Which one is it, Miss Fegley?

She stiffened, color draining from her face, and her lips pressed tightly, holding back a fresh wave of fury.

Fegley( irritated): I don’t know what you mean.

Miss Fisher leaned forward, chin propped elegantly on her hand.

Miss Fisher: Oh, darling, of course you do. A man with so many names rarely has an innocent occupation.

Murdoch adjusted his tie, his tone firm but still measured.

Murdoch: We’ve established that he died between one and two o’clock in the morning. Yet you claim you knew nothing of his movements and now about his others identities.That seems… unlikely.

Miss Fegley’s eyes flickered, her composure breaking.

Miss Fegley: I'm wasn't spying , he was a grown up Man!

Miss Fisher: And still, You lived under the same rooftop with him and pretend You didn't know where he went.

     Miss Fegley felt her blood boiling in her veins, an intense Hear creeping down her neck.

Fegley( snapping): He wasn’t hurting anyone! We were just delivering things!

Morse pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his voice low but cutting.

Morse: Delivering what?

A long silence stretched, broken only by the ticking of the clock. Finally, her shoulders slumped.

Fegley (whispering): Packages. Small crates. We didn’t ask questions. We just… carried them where we were told.

Murdoch: Told by whom?

She swallowed hard, fingers tightening around her purse as though it could shield her.

Fegley: An organization. They called themselves… the Foot Clan.

Miss Fisher’s smirk disappeared, her expression turning sharp.

Miss Fisher: Foot Clan? Sounds almost laughable, doesn’t it? But your face tells me it’s anything but.

Fegley: They said they’d take care of us, give us money. All we had to do was deliver. Bryan—John—whoever he was that day—he handled the instructions. I just helped.

Murdoch exchanged a grave look with Morse. The Fire Guardian’s jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of recognition in his eyes.

Murdoch (soft but firm): And what were in these packages?

Miss Fegley shook her head quickly.

Fegley: I swear I don’t know. We weren’t allowed to open them. But Bryan—he said it was dangerous. He said if we crossed them… we’d both end up dead.

The room went quiet again, the weight of her confession hanging heavy in the stale air.

   To be continued......

Chapter Text

       Chapter 6

Murdoch closed the door of the Interviews Room gently, the soft click echoing in the quiet corridor. Morse and Miss Fisher waited nearby, flanked by a constable on guard.

The Fire Guardian retrieved a cigarette from his packet, lighting it with a flick of his index finger. He drew in a long drag, the smoke curling around him like a shadow.

Murdoch coughed and waved the smoke away, while Miss Fisher merely smirked, unfazed.

Murdoch (coughing, scolding Morse): Please, stop smoking.

Morse (exhaling smoke in Murdoch’s direction): What? Too sensitive for a puff of smoke, Murdoch?

Murdoch: I don’t smoke, Morse. And more importantly, it’s very unhealthy and increases the risk of—

Morse rolled his eyes, stubbed out the cigarette, and tossed it into the nearest trash can.

Murdoch: Thank you. Now, you said you have a theory about the murder?

Morse shrugged, then calmly explained his theory: the pressure-point technique that killed John Dutton, and the Foot Clan, a group of ninjas with evil intentions—carefully omitting any mention of the turtles or his own dual nature and ninja training.

Murdoch blinked once, then twice, trying to process the abstract and almost absurd theory he had just heard.

Miss Fisher: Is he rebooting like a computer, or finally having a stroke of genius?

Morse: Both.

Murdoch stared at Morse, concern and disbelief creeping into his voice:

Murdoch: Morse… are you… Did you smoke something strong?

Miss Fisher tried and failed to suppress her laughter. Morse’s jaw went slack, his eyes widening… before narrowing again.

Morse: What?! No—of course not! It’s all real, Murdoch. And I can prove it. But you have to follow me and trust me, alright?

Murdoch hesitated. That’s when Miss Fisher sprang into action.

Miss Fisher (playfully adjusting Murdoch’s tie): Come on, dear. We’re all working on the same side. Do you really think Morse is lying—or trying to hurt you?

Murdoch gently removed her hands from his tie.

Murdoch: I understand that Morse doesn’t have bad intentions. But his methods… they’re abstract. We know so little about this organization. How are we supposed to find them?

Morse: Trust me. I know how—and where—to find them.

Murdoch: Fine. Let’s say we do find them. Like you said—they’re dangerous ninjas. How are we going to stop them?

Morse (shrugging, a hint of irritation in his tone): You just have to trust me. Okay?

The intensity in Morse’s voice, the unwavering look in his eyes, left no room for argument. Murdoch met his gaze and, with a slow exhale, reluctantly nodded.

______________________________________________

Without another word, the three detectives stepped out of the station house. The evening air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of Oxford’s traffic and the faint scent of wet cobblestones. They didn’t rush; this wasn’t a chase. The streets themselves were part of the investigation, each turn, each alley a potential clue.

Morse led the way, walking with long, purposeful strides, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat,though his gaze flicked constantly to the shadows, alert for anything—or anyone—that might betray the Foot Clan’s presence.Miss Fisher followed,graceful and deliberate, adjusted her bow and kept pace with a confident ease, her green eyes scanning every doorway and alley, her heels clicking against the uneven pavement, and Murdoch brought up the rear, adjusting his bowler hat against the fading light;despite his usual composure, kept glancing over his shoulder, his mind still turning over the abstract theory Morse had presented. The thought of powerful ninjas operating unnoticed in Oxford unsettled him, but he would not let it show. Not to them.

They passed familiar streets, each lined with old brick houses, wrought-iron fences, and the occasional flickering lamppost. In one point, they reached a low iluminated and long street.

Murdoch( to Morse): Where are we going exactly? 

Morse: An year ago, during an investigation, I discovered the base of the Foot Clan, close enough to my station house. And to go there, we pass King's Street, down the long gangue and the Bayne passage.

Miss Fisher( smiling , mischief reflecting in her eyes): So basically, we are knocking at a demon's door. Doesn't sound this dangerous and.. entartaining?

Murdoch: No, it isn't entartaining, Miss Fisher. It's a serious mission and we are going to face deadly assassins that can kill us.

Morse: Not only can, but they will kill us if manage to catch us.( Looking around). I think we are close to the Bayne passage. We need to be quiet. Follow me and, if You want to live, don't make noise.

       Murdoch raised an eyebrow and kept following in silence, already regretting trusting Morse's judgement. He looked at the younger man, but the expression of his face was cold, distant, unreadable, and those icy blue eyes held such an intensity Murdoch have never seen. Then his look turned to Miss Fisher, ever the glamorous and bold detective, skirt swishing as she moved, black hair styled in a perfect short bob.In some points, she was similar to Julia, but otherwise... The Canadian Detective found her too loud, obnoxious, impulsive,--

      They stopped in their places as a hissing sound lingered in the air.

Murdoch ( whispered, turning to Miss Fisher): What was this?

    Her loom answered him negative.

Miss Fisher ( whispered, looking in Murdoch's eyes): Maybe a cat?

     However, the hissing persisted and was followed by the sound of metal clattering and...were those footsteps?

  Murdoch and Miss Fisher turned to Morse, only to discover that he had vanished.

Murdoch( a bit panicked): Where did Morse go?

Miss Fisher: I don't know, Murdoch. 

       The footsteps came stronger and, at the opposite part of their way, three tall and broad silouettes appeared, making the two detective's blood ran cold.

Murdoch( heart beating like a F1 car engine): W-what are those creatures?!

        The called creatures stepped closer, revealing their hideous features: long, jagged teeth coming from large mouths edged by black lips, strong and thick limbs covered with black and deep brown plates and pitch black harem pants; from under sleeveless shirts, tied samurai-like at the waist, small glimpses of defined muscles peeked; and the eyes...the eyes were black, souless, like small voids in the space.

Miss Fisher ( under her breath): Not now, not now...

       Murdoch took a few steps back, and spread his arms, trying to shield her.       

#1 Master of Darkness' soldier( unsheating a large blade): Ennas, díredain!

#2 Master of Darkness' soldier: Mabo te!

       The soldiers unsheated their blades and walked slowly, with heavy steps toward them.

#1 Master of Darkness' soldier( to the other two soldiers): Dego!

      They growled..then lunged. Murdoch closed his eyes and braced himself for death when he heard.. whimpering? He opened his eyes, just in time to see one of those monsters fall and a glimpses of red blur hiding.

#2 Master of Darkness' soldier( surprised): Man i ardh?!

     Murdoch looked franatically around, and when he saw more clearly the red blur, he thought he was halucinating.

      Morse sprang from the shadows holding his twin katanas and spin-kicked the monster, sending it crashing into a wall.  

       The third soldier let a battle cry and lunged, aiming the blade at Morse. However, the Fire Guardian dodged and slashed with his katanas, making the monster shriek in pain and hold its arm.

#1 Master of Darkness' soldier: Pedin i thaur lín!

      The one that crashed the wall got up , gripping the blade with force.

Miss Fisher: MORSE, BEHIND YOU!

      The Detective Sergeant turned just when the monster swung the blade and blocked it with his katanas, sparks flying as metal hit metal. Morse grunted, struggling under the force.

Morse: You are not going to win! 

     He broke off and backflipped, slashing the side of the monster who groaned and held its side. Using the moment, Morse drop-kicked it into a dumpster, making the garbage spill on the ground.

     The remained monster growled and tried to slash the blond man with its claws, swinging wildly as Morse dodged every single time. Finally, Morse blocked the blade and hurled it from his oppoents hands, then slashed the chest of it and let If fall like a sack of bricks.

       Murdoch's jaw went slack and his eyes widened, still froze on his shielding pose. He watched the entire scene and tried ( and mostly failed) to process the action. Miss Fisher, who was still behind him, was very bit surprised, but mostly amazed, and a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

 Murdoch: What just happened?!

       Morse faced his colleagues, and Murdoch could take a better look at the sergeant's armor, from the thigh high crimson red boots, the 3/4 faded Red flared pants, to the sleevles turtleneck shirt, the corset brown plate with a fire-flame symbol and to the long, polished twin swords gripped by strong arms wrapped in bandages from the base of the fingers to the elbow and covered by metal defenders that started from wrists and ended at elbows.

Miss Fisher: Now I really want to see those abs you cover, Morse. And to understand why you hide so toned arms.

      Morse shook his head and looked at Murdoch....and froze for a split of second.

Morse( blue eyes widening, realising the situation): Oh, uh...I can explain.

Murdoch ( incredulous): How..what..what just happened?!

Miss Fisher( gesturing Murdoch to sit on the ground): Dear, You should sit down.

      The Detective Sergeant took slow steps and raised his hands.

Murdoch: What are You?

Morse: It's a long story, Murdoch. We don't have enough time for me to-

Murdoch: I am not following You anymore until You explain me what is happening.

Morse sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Morse: Fine. You want the truth? I tell You the truth: I am a human-elf hybrid trained in ninjutsu, kenjutsu and other martial arts. I fight the criminals and the villains that lurk on the Oxford and save the citizens. Happy now?

     The Canadian Detective looked at Morse and his armour, then turned at Miss Fisher.

Murdoch: Did..did You know about this?

Miss Fisher: For a while, Murdoch. 

    Murdoch looked like someone told him to quit police force and work on a circus as a magician.

Morse frowned, reading the other's man disbelief.

Morse: Listen. I told you the truth. Now let's move because we have a murder to solve and time isn't your friend's right now, isn't it?

Murdoch stood rooted to the spot, his bowler hat slightly askew, staring at Morse as though he were some apparition conjured from a fever dream. The clang of the fallen blade still echoed faintly in the alley, but silence had otherwise reclaimed the street.

Murdoch (slowly, voice low): A… human-elf hybrid. Ninjas. Monsters. And you expect me to simply carry on as if this were all… ordinary?

Miss Fisher (smirking, brushing dust from her coat): Well, darling, ordinary is rather dull. Don’t you agree?

Morse met Murdoch’s gaze, his expression steady, almost weary.

Morse: You don’t have to believe every word. But you saw what I did—and what they were. If we stand here arguing, more will come. Then none of us will make it out alive.

Murdoch’s jaw tightened. He wanted to demand answers, to insist on logic, to reject this entire bizarre reality. And yet—he had seen the creatures with his own eyes. He had seen Morse fight like no man alive.

Murdoch(exhaled, adjusting his hat with a trembling hand.): Very well. I don’t understand it—and I don’t like it—but I will follow you. For now.

A brief smile flickered across Morse’s face, gone as quickly as it appeared.

Morse: That’s all I need. Trust me just a little longer.

Miss Fisher linked her arm through Murdoch’s with mock elegance.

Miss Fisher: There, you see? Not so difficult. Now let’s get on with it before our charming friends return.

Murdoch sighed, resigned, and the trio moved deeper into the passage, shadows stretching long behind them. The night of Oxford seemed suddenly thicker, heavier—yet their pace quickened, for there was no turning back.

To be continued.......

Chapter Text

     Chapter 7

Walking down the dark alley, Murdoch was still trying to process what Morse told him earlier. A ninja? A human-elf hybrid? These were facts that seemed to came from George Crabtree's books, facts that defied physics, biology and biomechanics, something fantasy that shouldn't be real..and still, he had seen it with his own eyes. How was that possible? How could Morse, a lanky human police officer, be able to take down such big opponents? There so many questions, and so few answers.

     Morse was leading the way, Miss Fisher following close and Murdoch the last, walking as silent as possible. The passage seemed to stretch endlessy and the shadows seemed to dance across the walls.

    When they arrived at the last corner of the passage, the Fire Guardian stopped, lifting a hand and signaling them to stop too.

Morse( whispered, eyes locked on the building in front of them): This is it. This is the base.

      The called building was tall, with a new light gray facade and windows so clean that the sun rays reflected on it. On a part of the building, scaffoldings that once stood like abandoned constructions against the unfinished wall were now gone, revealing the clean fresh finished wall . At the entrance, the Deep brown wooden double doors were guarded by two men dressed in black Japanesse attires. 

Murdoch: Who are those men?

Morse: Foot ninjas. We need to go past them without alarming the whole building.

Miss Fisher: Maybe if I shot a fire with my pistol?

Morse: Too much sound. They are ninjas, the noise means alarm for intruders.

Murdoch: Does exist a back door or something?

Morse: No, it doesn't exist a back door.( running a hand through his ginger-coppery hair).. I think I have a plan, but we have one chance.

Murdoch ( raising an eyebrow): Morse?

Morse took from his belt a small white sack and a shuriken.

Morse: I forgot to bring more powder so it will be one shot.

Murdoch: Shot of what?

Morse( frowning, whispered-yell to Murdoch): It's sleeping powder. I plan to throw the sack to the ninjas and slash it with a shuriken, knocking them out cold. Now, don't distract me. 

      He took a slow, silent breath, eyes locked on the two foot ninjas at the double doors. Every muscle in his arm tightened as he swung the sack toward them. Time seemed to stretch—the world narrowed to the sharp glint of the shuriken and the bag spinning through the air.

With a flick of his wrist, the shuriken sliced through the sack. A soft cloud of sleeping powder burst outward, drifting over the ninjas. They inhaled it, staggered, and collapsed silently to the ground.

Murdoch: Good stars, it worked.

Morse: Let's move.

       The Fire Guardian and the two detectives moved quickly to the front doors, the first called pressing his ear against it and listening carefully. From the inside, there came no sound, not even soft whispers or footsteps, so he creaked it open and took a glance.

Morse( turning to the others): There's nobody inside.

Murdoch: Are You sure? 

   The younger man pushed the door open, revealing an empty and dimly lit hallway. They stepped inside, Morse leading and holding the swords in a defensive stance. Miss Fisher took her golden, peart decorated pistol from her thigh garter, looking around at the closed doors. And Murdoch, on his hand, felt his heart beating against his ribs, cold sweat running down his skin.

Murdoch: This is highly dangerous and illegal..

Morse: You accepted to follow me because of your case. Now keep quiet.

     The lady detective suppresed a snicker as they started searching the rooms from there, looking for anything that may give them a clue about what was John Dutton delivering. Unluckily, they discovered just offices and storage rooms filled with grabbling books and other weapons. And naturally, they moved to the second floor of the building.

Miss Fisher (whispered): This building is so sober.

Morse: It's a ninja base.

Miss Fisher: Even my house's storage room has more personality.

    The Fire Guardian rolled his eyes and kept walking, scanning the sorroundings for possible Foot ninjas. The stairs they climbed were made from concrete, edged by black, metallic railings , adorned with sharp accents. Finally, they reached the floor.

Morse( looking around): The perimeter looks clean. Let's search.

    He barely took a few steps when he heard a creaking sound coming from behind, and turned so fast he almost knocked the black haired woman.

Murdoch: It was my fault.

Morse( whispered- yelled): Murdoch! What the hell?! I told you to be quiet!

   Before Murdoch could respond, a low mechanical whirring echoed from the far end of the hallway. Morse’s eyes narrowed, the katanas in his hands shifting instinctively to a defensive stance. Miss Fisher’s pistol rose slightly, her gaze scanning the shadows.

From the darkness, four figures emerged, moving with unnerving precision. At first, Murdoch thought they were more ninjas, but the faint glint of metal under the dim lights said something else.

Murdoch: What are those?

Morse( quickly): I think they're robot ninjas!

Miss Fisher: What?

     The robots let out loud sounds of synthetic vocal modulation and lunged, aiming the swords at the detectives.

Morse: MOVE! 

      The Fire Guardian pushed his colleagues to the wall and turned in time to block a katana aimed at his shoulder. He quickly broke and spinned, decapitating the robot with a clean strike as another lunged, metal clashing and sparks flying.

      The other three Footbots lunged, saws whirring and conected to metallical tentacles coming from their backs.

Murdoch ( incredoulos): THEY HAVE SAWS?!

    Morse broke free and back away, blocking the swings of the opponents with his own katanas.

Murdoch( to Miss Fisher): We need to help him.

Miss Fisher ( cracking her knuckles): I'm not a very good fighter but I have courage and luck!

     She summoned a white solid shield with green and golden accents, green energy swirling around.

Miss Fisher( under her breath): Now or never...( The shouted): MORSE! 

       She swung the shield with all her strength, flying across the hall. Morse got down , and the shield knocked down a Footbot, giving the sergent the opportunity to strike: he backflipped and broke free, then sppined and cut off the robots' saws.

Morse: Time to finish.

       He spin-kicked one of the robots, sending it tumbling across the hall, then sliced the arms of the remained robot and drop-kicked into the railings, a sharp ornament stabbing into the chest.

       From the across the hall, the Footbot lunged, but Morse turned fast and in a flash of moves, the robot's arms and head flew and rolled across the floor.

      Morse sheated his katanas across his back and grabbed the shield, walking at Murdoch and Miss Fisher, who stood against a wall.

Murdoch: Is it over?

Morse: Yes. I finished those bloody mach-

     They didn't even have time to blink as the sound of a shotgun erupted, sparks flying and the disorted mechanical voice dying as the bullet hit the processor of the forth Footbot and sent the robot on the floor.

Miss Fisher( smirking): Now it's over.

Morse: Impressive.

Miss Fisher: Thank you, sweetie. Now, I think we should start our searching here, should we?

Morse: And I think we should start with the locked room behind Murdoch. If You have Something valuable, then You keep it somewhere locked.

Murdoch: I think I can help You here.

Morse( snorted): You? To pick up the door? Ha. 

Murdoch: You'd be surprised.

Morse( cross-armed): Fine. You can try.

       The Canadian Detective took a small wire and a pin from his coat's pocket and crouched at the level of the doorknob, starting his work with calm and mechanical almost moves. Miss Fisher leaned against the wall, checking her nails, while Morse smirked, side-eyeing the older man sometimes.

Morse: Need some help, Murdoch?

Murdoch: No, actually..

     The door opened slowly with a soft click and Murdoch stood up, dusting of his trousers' knees.

Morse (rolled his eyes, gesturing them to enter): Ladies first.

    Miss Fisher snorted, while Murdoch ignored the sharp line and all three cramped into the small room.

______________________________________________

Morse: Did you find something?

Miss Fisher: Just daggers, darling.

    The Fire Guardian got up from the floor and slammed close the drawer of the closet, feeling a wave of frustration washing over him.

Morse( hitting the closet again): Damn it! We searched all three floors and couldn't find anything! 

Murdoch: Patience, Sergeant. If you want to find evidence, then be patient.

Morse: How about I punch the patience out of you, huh? Patience won't give us the evidence.

Miss Fisher( resting a hand on Morse's right shoulder): Darling, punching Murdoch also won't give us evidence, as much as satisfying it is.

       Morse sighed and slid down against the closet, pulling a cigarette from his packet and lighting it with a flick of his fingers. The smoke curled lazily around him as he leaned back, eyes scanning the room.

Murdoch: You really need to smoke now?

Morse: Helps me think.

Murdoch: Just don’t set anything on fire.

Morse exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the floor, walls, and furniture. His fingers drummed lightly on the closet.

Morse (muttering to himself): Hidden compartment… somewhere easy to miss…

Murdoch crouched beside him, peering at the closet.

Murdoch: You think it’s here?

Morse tilted his head, blowing smoke across the floor.

Morse: Could be. Could be under the floorboards, behind a drawer… these Foot soldiers are ninjas after all. And a ninja always hides himself and his things somewhere very hard to spot.

Meanwhile, Miss Fisher’s sharp eyes darted to the ground near where Morse was sitting.

Miss Fisher: Hm. Is it just me, or does that plank look… wrong?

She pressed her heel down. The wood groaned.

Miss Fisher: I think that something is hidding here, gentlemans.

Morse frowned, then got up and cracked his knuckles, drawing a katana.

Morse: Step back.

With practiced precision, he wedged the blade under the loose board and levered it upward. His muscles strained, wood splintering with a loud creak until the plank snapped free.

Beneath it—papers. Dozens of them, stacked carefully in the hidden cavity.

Miss Fisher crouched, lifting the top sheets delicately, her eyes skimming over them.

Miss Fisher (low, grim): Well, darling… I’d say we’ve finally found something worth our trouble.

       The two men looked went next to her, reading carefully the papers from her hands.

Morse (frowned): Mutagen? Mutations? What are those monsters planning?

Murdoch( eyeing a strange device): Those monsters are you talking about are creating a dispersing bomb.

Miss Fisher: You mean they want to dispers mutagen and mutated everybody in this town?! Where do they even plant it?

Murdoch: I need to do some calculus, but the bomb will be placed somewhere where its range can cover almost the entire city.

Morse: And for this needs height and a central position in the Oxford.. Magdalen Tower.

Murdoch: Morse?

Morse: I think ( gesturing to the papers) that John Dutton was delivering the pieces the Foot needed for this bomb..and the bomb , If they want to mutate all the Oxford, will be placed on Magdalen Tower. We need to hurry before the bomb explodes.

Murdoch: We need to move—now—before it’s too late.

The three exchanged determined glances, their resolve steeling. Without another word, they sprinted toward the exit, shadows swallowing them as the fate of Oxford hung in the balance.

   To be continued............

Chapter Text

     Chapter 8  

  The streets of Oxford glowed under the soft orange and blue rays of the sunset . The three detectives, Morse, Murdoch, and Miss Fisher, hurried along the cobblestones, their pace sharp with urgency, footsteps echoing against the pavement.The mutagen bomb could already be in place, and every second ticked louder in their ears.

As they turned onto Beaumont Street, the growl of an approaching motor echoed behind them. A car—slightly worn, paint chipped here and there, but clearly well-loved—slowed to a stop at the curb.

Behind the wheel sat a familiar face.

Crabtree (leaning from the driver’s seat, surprised): Detective Murdoch? Miss Fisher? Sergeant Morse? What on earth—are you chasing criminals in this part of town?

Murdoch blinked, a mix of relief and exasperation.

Murdoch: George! What are you doing here?

Crabtree (earnest): Well, sir, I was investigating a report about… er… a glowing pigeon.

He paused, catching sight of Morse’s armor and katanas glinting under the streetlight. His eyes widened.

Crabtree: Oh… good heavens. Is… is that a ninja attire?! Are those real swords?!

Miss Fisher smirked, sliding a hand along the polished hood of his car.

Miss Fisher: Darling, you’re a lifesaver. We’re in desperate need of transport.

Morse (dead serious): We need your car. Now. It’s a matter of life and death.

Crabtree’s brows knitted.

Crabtree: Well… all right, but please don’t tell Inspector Brackenreid I let you ‘borrow’ the vehicle. He told me not to scratch it or I pay from my own money for the damage. Also, mind the brakes—they’re a bit touchy.

Without further debate, the three detectives piled in. Miss Fisher slid into the passenger seat, adjusting her hat with elegance. Murdoch, still clutching the papers, ended up in the back beside Morse, whose katanas sheated across his back kept hitting the car's ceiling.

Crabtree (starting the engine): Where to?

Morse (grim, eyes fixed ahead): Magdalen Tower. Fast.

The car jolted forward, rattling down the narrow lanes of Oxford. Crabtree handled the wheel with surprising vigor, though every sharp turn sent Murdoch clutching the door and Morse gripping the back of the seat, muttering curses under his breath.

Miss Fisher, by contrast, was positively delighted.

Miss Fisher (grinning): Well, I must say, this is far more exciting than arriving on horseback.

Murdoch (tight-lipped): Exciting is hardly the word I’d use.

The streets blurred past, lanterns casting streaks of gold and shadow across their faces. The night air rushed in through the window, carrying with it the faint toll of distant bells. As the spire of Magdalen Tower finally pierced the skyline, Morse’s eyes narrowed, determination burning like fire itself.

Morse: There it is. If we’re right, the Foot Clan’s already setting up the disperser. We have no time.

Crabtree slowed as they neared the tower, his hands trembling slightly on the wheel.

Crabtree: Detective Murdoch… I don’t know what you’re all mixed up in this time, but....I wish You good luck, sir.

Murdoch glanced at him, voice low but steady.

Murdoch: So do I, George..and thank you.

The car rolled to a halt, headlights cutting through the gloom. For a moment, the four of them sat in silence, the weight of what lay ahead pressing down on them.

Then Morse opened the door, katanas gleaming as he stepped into the night.

Morse (firmly): Stay here, Crabtree. This fight isn’t yours.

Crabtree (stubbornly): With respect, Sergeant…

Morse: Don't. Stay here, that's an order.

The Constable opened his mouth to respond, but the Fire Guardian's intense glare made him stop.

The three detectives exchanged quick glances. Murdoch sighed softly. Miss Fisher smiled. And Morse—reluctantly—nodded.

Morse: Let's go.

Together, they turned toward the looming tower, shadows lengthening , feeling the tension thick in the air.

---

Morse led the way, unsheating his katanas with a short shrink and scanning the perimeter; Miss Fisher followed, holding her golden pistol and her skirt swishing; and Murdoch ended the row, looking over his shoulder and praying to every god he knew to don't let him die there and then.  

  Their footsteps against the tiled stairs echoed like a bell in a grand church, the day light outside fading slowly and getting replaced by the soft darkness of the night.  

  The Canadian Detective grabbed the railings, his heart beating like a set of drums.  

   At the top of the stairs, Morse stopped and gave a push on the door, which opened slowly, creaking like an old floorboard. He squinted.

Morse: Something's not right. Stay close behind me.

He moved on, gripping his katanas strongly, his jaw tight and lips pressed into a line.

And there it was.

Next to the railings, with tubes that glowed from the green substance that runned into them, and glowing buttons, the bomb stood, mocking them.

Miss Fisher: The bomb-

Morse( moving to it): We need to stop it before it explo-

Suddenly, a shadow stretched across the rooftop. A low, metallic click echoed.

From the shadows, a figure descended with lethal precision. Shredder landed silently, a silhouette of menace, blades glinting under the moonlight. His armor reflected the city lights like a predator’s eyes.

Morse took a defensive stance, standing in front of his friends to protect them.

Morse( demanding): Who the bloody hell are You?

Murdoch( whispered): I don't think it's a good idea to insult him.

Shredder: Your skills are impressive, young man. But they won't save you from me.

Morse( smirked): And may I ask who are you?

Shredder( summoning his gauntles' blades): You will see why they call me the Shredder.

Shredder lunged, Morse barely blocking as the blades connected with his katanas. Miss Fisher and Murdoch dove aside, landing in a heap.

Morse and Shredder broke free, the first one's heels scraping against the ground as he backed away.

Morse( barked): Murdoch, go deactivate the bomb, now!

The Fire Guardian spinned and attempted to slash his enemy, only for his swords to get blocked by one of the gauntles and got kicked in the abdomen with great force, making him fly backwards.

Shredder jumped and swung his blades toward Morse, but the sergeant rolled just as the blades stabbed the concrete floor.

Morse( as he jumped back on his feet, through gritted teeth): HURRY!

Murdoch worked as fast as he could, hands slightly trembling from the pression of time, while Miss Fisher gaze moved from the battle to the bomb.

Miss Fisher: Hurry, Murdoch! Shredder seems to be in a very bad mood now!

Murdoch: I'm working!

The blond man dodged multiple fast swings, backing away.

Shredder: You’ve ruined my plans, warrior. You won’t leave here alive.

Morse executed two back handsprings in succession, then flicked two shurikens toward Shredder. The villain deflected effortlessly, forearms blocking the attack. Morse lunged to strike with his katanas, but Shredder caught him mid-air and slammed him into a stone pillar. Morse crumpled to the ground, katanas clattering beside him.

Morse groaned and got on his knees, pain and fear spreading into his body as he heard and saw Shredder walking toward him and dragging his blades against the concrete.

The sergeant's blue eyes widened and desperately tried to get up. Shredder raised his blades, ready to strike.

Shredder: Now I will finish You.

Miss Fisher: Not so fast!

She swung her shield and managed to hit the Villain, making him stumbles and giving Morse time to get up and grab his swords.

Shredder( turning to her): You dare to defy me?!

Miss Fisher: Anytime and anywhere.

Shredder: You will pay for this defiance.

Miss Fisher skidded around the corner as Shredder gave chase, her skirt flaring as she moved.

She looked over her shoulder and saw Shredder coming closer.

Miss Fisher ( shouting): Some help is very welcomed now!

Shredder kept following her, fury gleaming in both his eyes.

Morse, who managed to recover, jumped over the interior railings and tackled Shredder before he could catch up with the lady detective.

Murdoch, in that point, was sweating bullets as he worked faster then he ever did , on that bomb. He took a short glance and saw Shredder throwing Morse again, the latter one rolling on the ground and landing a low stance.

Morse jumped and swung his katanas, each attack fast and precise.

Morse( shouting): What the hell are You doing, Murdoch?!

Murdoch( shouting back): I work as fast as I can!

Morse( blocking another swing of blades): Then work faster!

Morse dodged and blocked every attack, but he felt his arms and legs trembling from the crashing before. He gritted his teeth, and in a burst of being fed up by this, he lit up his swords, flames bright and strong. He let out a battle cry as he managed to front-kick Shredder, making this time the villain to back away.

Shredder( growled): You are a kappa!

Morse( smirked, eyes glowing orange-flame): I'm more then a kappa, You evil tin bucket!

The Fire Guardian and the Villain clashed, sparks flying as metal hit metal.

Miss Fisher, in that time, managed to sneak around and move next to the Canadian Detective.

Murdoch( to himself): Just cut one more site and--

The humming of the bomb and the glowing buttons stopped, and a fresh wave of relief washed over Murdoch, knowing he had deactivated the bomb.

Murdoch( murmured): I stopped it...( Then loud) I stopped the bomb!

Shredder, who managed to grab and threw Morse at their feet, growled and slammed his fist on a pillar.

Shredder: Do You think You can defeat me?!

The Sergeant's breath came ragged, his hands scrapped and bleeding lighlty where they weren't covered. He looked up with wide eyes, hands clenching on the swords, as Shredder closed the distance between him and the trio.

Suddenly, they heard the sound of police sirens from below, stronger as they got closer.

Shredder (growled): You may have won this battle, but you will never win the war.

With a blur of motion, he vanished into the shadows, as silently as he had arrived.

The rooftop fell still, the only sound the ragged breaths of the detectives. Murdoch extended a steadying hand, helping Morse back to his feet. His katanas still glowed faintly, the fire flickering before dying down. Miss Fisher brushed dust from her skirt with a sharp flick of her wrist, her expression half-annoyed, half-exhilarated.

Below, the wail of sirens swelled, red and blue lights flooding the cobblestones. Police cars screeched to a halt, officers spilling out with rifles and pistols at the ready. From their vantage point, the trio spotted the unmistakable copper-red hair of Inspector Brackenreid and, beside him, the tall, outline of Cameron Grey.

Miss Fisher (leaning over the railing, shouting): Hey, Cameron! (She waves.)

Cameron looked up, brown-green eyes wide and one eyebrow raised.

Cameron: What are you three doing up there?

Morse (gritting his teeth, smirking despite the blood at his lip): Enjoying the view. What do you think we’re doing?

Cameron( rolling her eyes): You’re not funny, Morse. Get down here.

Miss Fisher exchanged a look with Murdoch, one brow lifted, as if to say she hasn’t changed a bit. Murdoch only sighed, his hands still trembling slightly from the delicate work on the bomb.

Together, the trio descended the winding stairs. The air was thick with the mingled scents of smoke, sweat, and cordite. At the base of the tower, the officers closed ranks, parting as Brackenreid strode forward, fury written across his face.

Brackenreid (snapping): Murdoch! What devilry are you tangled in this time? And you—Miss Fisher, for heaven’s sake—Oxford is not your playground. And Morse—bloody hell, what are you even wearing?!

Miss Fisher(smiled sweetly): Fashion, Inspector. You should try it sometime.

Murdoch cleared his throat.

Murdoch: Inspector, I can explain these..events that led me to solve the case.

A murmur rippled through the officers. Relief, disbelief, suspicion. Cameron Grey stepped forward, her eyes fixed on Morse.

Cameron( eyes softning, arms crossed): Morse, what have you done this time?

Morse: Saved the day, saved the city..

 He stepped closer, mouth so close to her ear,that she could feel his warm cigarette-breath against her skin.

Morse( whispered): The Foot is back..and brought mutagen in Oxford. 

    He stepped back and she stared at him, not because she taught the idea was crazy( she never didn't think his ideas were crazy), but because it meant a new threat had come to their city.

Cameron gently cupped his face, turning to have a better look of the scratches and other wounds from him.

Cameron( brushing his left cheek with her thumb): You need to clean your wounds. And patch up your deeper ones that bleed.

Morse: I'm fine.

Cameron: No, you're not. Your hands are trembling. I take you to your flat and help you.

Morse opened his mouth, ready with a retort, but the weariness in his limbs betrayed him. With a sharp exhale, he sheathed his swords, the steel ringing softly, and gave Murdoch and Miss Fisher a last, fleeting glance.

Morse (quietly, to them): Go home. Rest. This isn’t over.

Miss Fisher tilted her head, her smirk returning.

Miss Fisher: It never is, darling.

Murdoch gave a solemn nod, papers still clutched under his arm.

Murdoch: Good luck, Sergeant.

Cameron ( rolled her eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips): I'm not going to bite him, Murdoch. But I wish You good luck because Julia is waiting for You home and trust me, She's nervous.

   Murdoch raised an eyebrow, while Morse mouthed something similar to ,,damn" or ,,dang".

   Cameron gently guided Morse down the cobblestone streets, her hand steadying him as he limped slightly, fatigue etched into every line of his body. The cool night air contrasted with the warmth radiating from his fire-lit swords earlier, and she could feel the faint tremor of exhaustion beneath his armor.

Cameron: You really need to take better care of yourself.

Morse gave a tired smirk, his blue eyes flickering faintly with lingering firelight.

Morse: Someone has to save the city.

Cameron shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Cameron: We save the Oxford Morse. We are the Guardians, aren't se? And someone has to make sure you survive saving it. Come on, we’ll get you patched up.

Morse: And after you parch me up, maybe tomorrow, can we train together, on my building's rooftop?

Cameron: Sounds like You aim for a date night, Romeo.

Morse blushed and smiled awkardly.

Cameron: What about a walk in the Botanic Garden, at 7 PM, tomorrow. Good?

Morse (nodded): Yes.

They moved through the quiet streets, the echoes of sirens fading behind them. 

Meanwhile, Murdoch and Miss Fisher made their way back through the darkened streets, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from their veins. Murdoch clutched his papers a little less tightly now, the tension leaving his shoulders as he glanced at the elegant detective beside him.

Miss Fisher: Well, that was… invigorating, wasn’t it?

Murdoch (dryly): Invigorating isn’t exactly the word I’d use.

She chuckled, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight.

Miss Fisher: You’ll live to exaggerate it in your reports tomorrow, I’m sure.

Murdoch sighed, the weight of the evening still pressing lightly on him.

Murdoch: Yes, well… goodnight, Miss Fisher.

Miss Fisher: Goodnight, Detective. Do try to stay out of trouble until the next adventure.

With a final wave, they parted ways, each disappearing into the calm night, the city finally quiet after the chaos.

The End

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

2019

   A single lit candle was giving a small amount of light, the flame casting some shadows that seemed to stretch and dance across the walls.

Cameron held the candle in one hand and her bo staff scepter of Light in the other, standing in the middle of the room with a deceptive serene expression plastered across her face.

  That day it was training day for her team. It seemed just an ordinary training sessions, like the ones from the past 14 years, but for that one, she had a special and out of ordinary task.

     The boys and Sussanah Murdoch circled her, each one holding his weapons: Morse in his red armour and twin katanas, Jim in his Iron-man style armour and George Fancy...well, George Fancy was in his hockey gear, holding his hockey stick and trying to look tough...only to look like a sulking 15 years teenager that tried to look older. And Sussanah Murdoch, a brave 12 years old girl, daughter of William Murdoch and Julia Ogden, was holding her metal tessen, her blue eyes looking around for any signs of movement. She was in her second year of training as a kunoichi, and despite the fact the others were adults with decades of experience and combat behind, the girl was stubborn, quick,very convincing and very eager to learn the way of martial arts..as much as her father was concerned and her mother seemed happy about it.

Cameron: Your skills are getting better, boys; I can't say otherwise. You're good fighters. However, a true warrior and a ninja never stops training and discovering new paths. And today's path is not about brute force, but about stealth, agility, speed and skill, a true test of a ninja.(She raises the hand with the candle). The one who manages to blow out the candle I hold it's the winner and passes the test. Hajime!

    Jim was the first one to lunge, aiming his large fist toward the candle. Cameron smirked and dodged with the grace of a shadow.

Cameron: Predictable.

    Jim lunged again, swinging multiple fast fists toward the candle. The Light Guardian dodged every single punch, backflipping as she avoided the last one.

Cameron: Too slow.

     Jim tried to swing again, but she threw the candle in the air and two fast moves, she kicked and sweept his legs, making the young man land with a big thud.

Jim,cross-armed, grumbled.

    Fancy came next, running fast and swinging his hockey stick like a madman.

Fancy: Get ready to get your mind blown, Cam!

   The young Detective Constable swung his stick, and Cameron blocked it without breaking a sweat with her staff.

Cameron: Too impulsive. Your speed is good, but you lack stealth.

     They broke free, then Fancy tries to sweep her legs. She jumped and high-kicked him in the ribs, sending him crashing into Jim, who got knocked down on the floor again.

Fancy( throwing arms up, wheezing): C'mon!

Cameron: You need to be more precise, calculated and less improvisational.

   The black haired detective only sulked.

~~~~~~~~~

    Sussanah Murdoch grabbed her tessen tightly, her small knuckles turning white from the force. The silver and golden tessen gleamed at the candle's light, revealing the symbol of the light element: a star with four corners, encased by a circle. The weapon was beautiful, elegant, but deadly in the right hands; just like Cameron herself. The girl remember the day the Light Guardian gave her the weapon, how her blue eyes sparkled with joy and how proud Cameron looked. The truth was that the tessen was one of Cameron's weapons, one she was given by her master, Wu Chan, along with her scepter back in the days when she was a small girl, no older than 9 years old.

     Sussanah took a deep breath, and one calculated move, she attempted a high kick toward the candle. Cameron moved her hand in a fraction of second and spun. The girl swung again, tessen aimed at the flame , but the leader dodged every single move, almost mocking her attempts.

Cameron: Nice try, but You need to do more If You want to win.

     Sussanah growled and , with a flick of her wrist, swung her tessen, flying around like a boomerang. Cameron caught it without flinching and swept the girl's legs.

Cameron ( closing the tessen and giving her back to the owner): Hm, not bad. Your energy and calculations are good, but you still need much more training to improve your skills.

    Sussanah got up from the floor and run a delicate hand through her long, curly dark brown hair before she took a sit at the edge of the small training area, next to Jim and Fancy.

Jim: Well, looks like it's over.

Sussanah: Wait, wasn't Uncle Morse's turn?

Fancy( rubbing hands together): Oh, this is getting good. Hey kiddo, have you seen your uncle Morse fighting?

Sussanah: Actually...No, I don't think so..

Fancy: Oh, it'll be good.

     The black haired young man grabbed a granola bar from his belt and started munching on it while the girl and Strange waited with various degrees of curiosity.

    Cameron, standing in the middle, grabbed her staff tightly in her right hand, not even looking up to the ceiling.

Cameron: Ah, Morse.( She clicked her tongue). Very agile, fast as a demon, stealth incarnate. Precise, cold, skilled...A ninja in the true sense of the word. But—... I am more aware of your skills than you think.

     Just when Morse dropped from the ceiling, holding his twin katanas, Cameron twirled and moved away from her original spot where Morse landed.

Cameron: Nice move. 

      Morse swung his katanas in a perfect arc, blades a blur of silver. Cameron threw the candle in the air, and spinned her scepter, coliding with the swords.

     Sussanah watched in awe, her jaw dropping. Jim just looked, while Fancy was still eating his granola bar.

     The two human elf-hybrids broke free, and She caught the candle with her left hand. Morse swung again, each arc faster and closer to the flame, but Cameron dodged every move. She tried to sweep his legs, but Morse flipped, spun in the air and threw three shurikens before he landed. She blocked the shurikens with her forearm defenders, and parried even the fast jump front kick the Fire Guardian attempted.

Cameron: Perfect momentum, skill and technique...But do you know what makes you vulnerable?

    Morse sprinted toward her, but she backflipped and landed behind him.

Cameron: You hesitate to really hurt me.

 Then she spin-kicked him and sent him rolling onto the floor, katanas clattering as they fell out of his reach.

Cameron: I won.

    And just as she was ready to turn on the lights, a shurkien flew and blew out the candle before it embedes itself in the wall.

Morse( standing up, grabbing his katanas, smirking): Corection: I won.

Cameron: Very well done, ...show-off.

     Fancy stood up and clapped , while Sussanah literally jumped on her feet and rushed to her uncle and aunt.

Sussanah: Oh my God, that was amazing! How did You do that?!

Morse( sheating katanas): Cameron and I have have been training in Aikido, ninjutsu—

Jim: Martial arts.

Morse(side-eyeing Jim): Martial arts..since we were 8 years old kids. Skill comes from training and experience, kid.

Cameron: And training and experience come across many years, so yeah.

Sussanah: Wait...One day I would be so good as You?!

Morse:Well....

Cameron: Only If You really train hard. But along these, talent and genetics also play a role.

Fancy: Please don't start another biology lecture. I'm still recovering from Mikey's question and Raph's answer about how reproduction works.

   Jim snorted, while Cameron sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Cameron: Fine. But You can't run Forever from knowledge and maturity.

Fancy: I can and I will! Just like I will run for dinner right now! 

   Then he ran away.

Morse: Why is he still alive?

Cameron: Sheer luck, I suppose. And charm. He's really charming , Y'know. Like a puppy.

Morse: An annoying one.

Jim( stretches): Okay, let's get some food. All of this training made me hungry. How about some Classic English food?

Cameron: I want Chinesse.

Morse: Indian.

Jim:...If You again cook something like that so-callee curry , I will shove the pot in your face, Morse.

Morse: But it wasn't that spicy!

Jim: I literally saw my late nan playing Macarena from Heaven, You evil elf.

Cameron: Fine, English this time. But next time we eat Chinese.

Jim and Morse: Deal.

Sussanah: Can I come with You?

    Morse looked at the Brown haired girl. Then at Cameron. Then back at Sussanah.

Cameron: I think You should go home. Your parents will get worried.

Morse( deadpean):Classic reaction. I bet Murdoch would math his way out of stress when he observes You're late.

Cameron shoved him with her elbow.

Cameron: Let's get You home, sweetheart. Okay?

Sussanah ( sighed): Okay...

Cameron: Good.

As they stepped out into the cool evening, the echoes of laughter and clashing swords faded behind them. The warmth of camaraderie lingered—another day of lessons, and another spark of friendship...but shadows stretched long, almost alive, on the walls.

To be continued.....

Chapter Text

    Chapter 2

   The sky was a dull sheet of grey, clouds heavy and unyielding, while a chilly wind swept the streets of Oxford. Students and residents of all ages walked down the streets, some chatting laughing, unaware of the shadows lingering behind the closed doors.

    Castle Gate was busy just as usual. Papers, reports, constable moving around like bees in a hive. The sound of typing echoed like a staccato along with the laughs, jokes and gossip , a nice backround sound.

     In the desk from the edge of the large room, sorrounded by cabinets, Detective Sergeant Morse was sitting at his desk, blue eyes narrowed as he completed another report of the who-knows-how-many he had to. God, he hated paperwork. He hated it so much, even back in his first years as a police officer, when he was just an overlooked, yelled at ( especially by SuperIntendent Bright) and hated by almost everyone Detective Constable. A young soul, still filled with hood and empathy. But that boy changed, and wasn't anymore. He aged, advanced in rank, and became less naive,less...open toward the others. More tolerated, but even more hated. He got so many enemies across the years that he didn't even bathered to count them. And If time teached him a lesson, is that people haven't stopped hating him, but across years, he learned that only a few people would truly appreciate him and care for him. Love him. And the others would just hate him, more or less evident, depending on how usefull he was for them.

      Morse sighed, slender fingers frozen on the keyboard. He needed a break from those papers, needed to do something usefull, productive...dynamic, not sitting on a damn chair all day and writing papers. He looked around, hoping that someone would save him from paperwork. DS Jim Strange adjusted the cuffs of the button up shirt stretched across his large frame before he returned to his paperwork. Detective Chief Inspector Fred Thursday was probably in CSI Bright's office, giving him the report for that month. And Detective Constable George Fancy....well, he wasn't in sight. Which , in Morse's experience, meant a few things:

George was causing chaos.

George was doing something stupid.

George was plotting a prank.

    The last one made Morse shudder. He still had glitter in his drawer from the last prank that involved a glitter bomb.

    The older Detective Sergeant was ready to get up on his feet when Fancy showed up, along with Fred Thursday. And George Fancy was grinning...which wasn't a good thing.

Morse( standing up): Sir. Fancy.

Fred Thursday: A bit under the weather, Morse? 

Morse: No, sir. Just a bit tired, maybe.

Fred Thursday: Well, your drownsiness is going to evaporate, lad. You and Fancy have a case to solve.

Morse (raised an eyebrow): A murder? Arson?

Fred Thursday: No.

Morse: Suicide?

Fred Thursday: Jesus Christ, no. What's wrong with you?

Morse: Professional defect, I suppose. This double life made me a bit too pessimistic.

Fancy( under his breath): More moody, I'd say.

     The DS pretended to ignore the dark haired man's comment.

Fred Thursday ( shrugged, handed Morse a report): Well, pessimistic or not, a young woman dissapeared, her husband and children and worried and someone needs to discover what happened. And since this is one of Fancy's first cases to solve—

Morse already felt a migraine coming.

Fred Thursday: You will supervise him. The advance in rank comes with responsabilities, son. And one of them is guiding your officers.

   And there you go. Morse sighed internally, regretting his wish; he should have stayed quiet and finish his reports.

Morse: Yes, sir.

Fred Thursday: Good. You have the details about the victim in the report. I have to investigate a crime scene with Jim in Summertown.See you later, lad.

      Morse just stared as his DCI walked away, fedora hat in one hand and pipe in the other, and vanished after he took the left corner. Fancy's grin widened, brown eyes sparkling with mischief.

Fancy( nudging Morse): Looks like we're partners, Morse! Bad cop, good cop...Can I be the good cop?!

Morse sighed so hard he almost broke something.

Morse: We are NOT ,,good cop, bad cop", George. We are police officers and partners in solving crimes. Not some cheesy officers from American films.

Fancy( titling head):..can I at least drive the car?

    Morse glared at the young man and took his trench coat from the back of his chair, walking down the hall toward the main doors. Fancy followed him quickly, his puppy energy already shining.

     It was going to be a long day for the Fire Guardian.

___________________________________________

      A few hours later, with his shirt crumpled, tie askew, shoes covered in dirt, trousers wet from ankles to knee and hair a mess, Morse dropped himself onto a nearby chair, taking a long, deep breath.

George Fancy took a sit on a nearby chair, a nervous smile crossing his face as he dusted off the knees of his jeans. He saw Morse's expression and decided that maybe he should keep his mouth shut. Then he decided that silence wasn't the best choice. So he cleared his throat and spoke.

Fancy: I don't think it was that bad... I mean, it was more like an action movie! Right?

     Morse turned at the younger man. And stared. No, he glared at Fancy. Long. Hard. His glare could have melted steel. George gulped.

Morse: Not that bad? We had a crime to solve.

George: But we found the woman!

Morse: And we could have done it faster If we wouldn't have been chased by Master of Darkness' soldiers, Foot Clan ninjas, tackled into a field and nearly hit by a car!

George: Isn't action part of being a warrior?

Morse(snapped back): But not during police work!

     George sulked and slumped back on his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The Fire Guardian only sighed and buried his head in his hands, ginger-coppery curls brushing his fingers. He had one of those long days, and he couldn't comprehend how, HOW Fancy was still so fresh,so full of energy. Was the age the cause of the energy? Or Something else? Maybe, maybe not; he couldn't know for sure.

    Morse ran a hand through his hair and looked back at the detective, his gaze somehow a bit softer than before.

Morse: Listen. We found the woman and solved the case. Inspector Thursday and Mr. Bright don't need to know about our battles with the Foot and Darkness soldiers.Understood?

   Fancy nodded and rubbed his left arm.

Fancy: Can I at least decide what are we doing after work?

Morse: Don't stretch the cord, kid.

Morse barely had time to regret opening his mouth.

Because the ground trembled.

Not much at first—just a faint shiver under their feet, like someone had slammed a heavy door somewhere below the station. Fancy lifted his head, confused. Then the tremor grew stronger. Papers slid off desks. A mug rattled on the edge of Morse’s desk and crashed to the floor.

George jumped in his seat.

Fancy: Uh… did Oxford just move?

Morse stood quickly, hand drifting unconsciously toward where his katanas would normally be.

Morse: That wasn’t natural.

Another tremor hit—sharper this time, like an enormous creature dragging itself beneath the city. The lights flickered.

Fancy’s brown eyes widened.

Fancy: …Okay, that one definitely wasn’t natural.

Before Morse could answer, his phone buzzed violently in his pocket.

Cameron.

The Fire Guardian felt his stomach drop. She never called during work hours unless things were going very, very wrong.

He answered.

Morse: Cameron?

Her voice was steady—but beneath it, Morse felt the crackle of tension.

Cameron: Morse. Listen carefully. I’m in the sewers beneath St. Aldate’s. We’ve got a situation.

A loud clang echoed behind her, followed by a deep, guttural growl Morse had never heard before.

Cameron (breathing hard): A big situation.

Morse straightened, all exhaustion forgotten.

Cameron: I need backup. Immediately.

Another growl—wet, scraping, hungry.

Cameron: Monster created by the Master of Darkness. Very strong. Very unstable. I’m chasing it deeper down. It’s headed toward the tunnels under the Thames line.

A beat.

Cameron: Morse—bring Fancy and Jim. And hurry.

Fancy, who heard enough to go pale, squeaked.

Fancy: M–monster? As in—teeth? Claws? Goo?

Morse: Yes, Fancy. All of that. Get moving.

And she hung up.

Morse shoved his phone into his coat, grabbed a set of keys from the hook near his desk, and stormed toward the exit.

Fancy scrambled after him.

Fancy: We’re—we’re seriously doing this?! Right now?!

Morse: No one cares that we're at work when creatures of darkness are involved.

Fancy: Good point—wait, horrible point—wait, what’s happening?!

But the Fire Guardian didn’t answer. He was already moving fast. 

Fancy grabbed his hockey stick, baseball bat and hockey gear, putting elbow and knee pads over his jeans and hoodie. Morse, in a flick of a wrist, summoned his armour, flames swirling around him as his pants and coat were replaced with the long thigh-high metal boots, corset plate and his twin katanas.

Fancy stumbled, but kept up with Morse.

---

Outside, the air was colder. Wrong.

A faint vibration pulsed under the pavement, like a heartbeat deep underground.

Morse’s instincts prickled—something was awakening.

Jim Strange was already running across the street toward them, armor clanking with every step, breath fogging.

Jim: Got her call!

He fell in at Morse’s side.

Jim: She said it’s big.

Morse: Everything is big to you, Jim.

Jim: No, mate—Cameron said “Don't let it reach the surface.”

Jim swallowed. Hard.

Jim: Which means if it DOES reach the surface—

Fancy: Armageddon?

Morse: Not helping, Fancy.

The three of them raced toward the sewer entrance at the edge of St. Aldate’s, the tremors growing stronger, the air thicker, colder, almost metallic.

Fancy slowed slightly, gripping his hockey stick slung over his back.

Fancy: You… you feel that, right? Like something’s watching us?

Jim exhaled, face serious.

Jim: Yes. And it ain’t friendly.

Morse placed a hand on the manhole cover.

The metal was vibrating.

Warm. Like something breathing beneath it.

Morse: She’s fighting it down there.

He looked at the other two.

Morse: Ready?

Fancy: Absolutely not—let’s go.

Jim: On three.

Morse nodded, shoved the cover aside, and dark, cold air rushed upward from the depths below.

Morse: One.

Jim: Two.

Fancy: Three!

And they descended into the darkness of the sewers.

Straight into the belly of the storm.

To be continued.........

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Down Below the City

        Morse landed first without making a sound. Fancy dropped after him, and Jim last, almost knocking down a pipe.

Morse( hissed through gritted teeth): Be quiet! If the monster's around, it'll here us and attack.

Jim: Hey, not all of us are ninjas like you, matey. And come on, how big could that monster be after all?

Fancy: Don't jink it, Jim.

The earth trembled again—just a faint shiver under Morse’s feet as he stepped out on the concrete floor of the sewer tunnel. The Fire Guardian froze mid-stride, eyes narrowing. That wasn’t thunder. That wasn’t traffic. That tremor came from around them.

And then his phone rang.

Morse didn’t even look at the screen. Only one person called him with that tone, with that warning electricity behind the ringing.

Morse: Cameron?

Static crackled. Then a voice—her voice—breathless, strained, but full of command.

Cameron: Morse—get here. Sewers. Now. Monster—cornered—Cowley tunnels—MOVE.

Then the call cut.

Morse stared at the phone like it had slapped him.

Fancy (blinked):Was that… Cameron?

Morse shoved his phone in his belt, expression hard shifting into something colder. Sharper. Determined.

Morse:Yes. And we’re going. Follow me.

     The Fire Guardian unsheated his katanas from his back and took of sprinting, leading the way was the other two men followed him. Morse ran like the wind, feet barely touching the ground as he navigated the labyrinth of tunnels. Fancy skated behind him, holding his hockey stick with both hands like he was in a hockey match. And poor, heavy Jim Strange ran as fast as his bulky physic and armor allowed him to.

    Then an explosion echoed down the tunnels.

Fancy grabbed a pipe.

Jim grabbed the wall.

Morse didn’t grab anything—he simply braced his stance like he’d done it a thousand times before.

Jim (frowned):What was that? An explosion?

Morse: No, but I feel the presence of the monster coming closer. Get ready.

Fancy’s brown eyes sparkled, because of course they did.

Fancy: What do You think it looks like? Like monster-monster? Or mutant-monster? Or just a large dog—

Morse( without looking back):Fancy. If Cameron is calling us sounding like that, it’s not a dog.

Fancy gulped.

Yeah. Fair enough.

____________________________

The three men reached the tunnels near Cowley in under ten minutes. A large pile of scraps was blocking their way toward the place Cameron told them to come to.

Jim lifted it with one hand.

Fancy (made a face):Oh come on, not again.

Morse walked first, stepping into darkness that hummed in a familiar, unwelcome way.

The air was heavy. Warm. Wrong.

Fancy followed.

Jim closed behind them.

The second they reached the lowest tunnel, a roar—deep, guttural, vibrating off the concrete—shook the sewer walls.

Fancy (clung to Jim’s metal gloved hand):Nope. Nope, nope. That wasn’t human. That wasn’t even legal.

Morse’s hand lit in orange flame, swirling around his fingers like it recognized the threat before he did.

Morse: Stay sharp.

They didn’t walk far before they saw her.

Cameron—Light Guardian—stood ankle-deep in sewer water, scepter glowing white-gold, hair tied but messy from battle, breath fast, eyes narrowed.

And in front of her…

The monster.

Huge.

Black.

Shoulders scraping the tunnel ceiling.

Darkness rippled around its skin like heat waves. Its neon-yellow eyes glowered with violent hunger. Four claws clicked against the concrete. Its mouth hung open—jagged teeth the shape of broken glass.

Fancy squeaked. Absolutely squeaked.

Jim (murmured):Dear God…

The beast roared at her, and Cameron didn’t turn to see the boys, but she registered their presence instantly.

Cameron:You’re late.

Fancy: We ran.

Morse( snapped):We don’t run.

Fancy: YOU run when Miss Sunshine here tells us to!

The monster roared again and all three ducked.

Cameron planted her boots firmly on the concrete.

Cameron: It’s playing with me. I’m trying to push it north—keep it from breaching the surface, but it keeps running for east.

Morse stepped beside her, flame in both hands that enfulged the katanas' blades. 

Morse( blue eyes narrowed):Then let’s finish it.

Fancy raised his strengthened hockey stick like it was the sword of Olympus.

Jim cracked his knuckles.

The monster lunged.

And battle erupted.

________________________________________

Claws slashed—Morse ducked, rolled, and struck upward with a flaming uppercut that burst along the monster’s chest. But the creature didn’t even flinch. Darkness swallowed the fire like water on a match.

Morse(sarcastic): Oh brilliant, fire’s reduced.

Cameron swung her staff, light exploding on impact—but again the creature shrugged it off, stumbling only a half-step.

Fancy tried to hit it in the knee.

The monster slapped him into a wall like a bug.

Jim (shouted, grabbing Fancy by his collar and dragging him out of snapping jaws):GEORGE! Stay behind me!

Fancy: No! I fight— AGH!

Fancy stumbled as a shockwave from the monster’s roar blasted them backward.

Morse (coughed, eyes watering):Cameron! Light works best. Focus direct beam!

Cameron: I'm trying!

The tunnel shook violently. Cracks spiderwebbed up the walls. Water dripped. Somewhere metal groaned.

Then—

The ground collapsed.

Just dropped, like a trapdoor.

All four of them plunged downward with the monster.

Fancy screamed. Jim swore. Morse cursed loudly enough to echo. Cameron twisted midair and grabbed the nearest pipe, trying to slow her fall.

They hit the lower tunnel hard—water splashing everywhere. Morse groaned and pushed up, ribs aching.

Fancy (sat half-submerged):I hate sewers. I hate monsters. I hate my life.

The monster roared, dripping filth and fury.

Cameron: MOVE!

They scrambled as the creature barreled toward them.

Fancy slipped. Jim pulled him upright again.

Morse grabbed Cameron’s wrist and hauled her with him through a narrow side-tunnel.

The monster slammed into the tunnel walls, chasing them with horrifying speed.

Fancy( shouted as he ran):This isn’t working!WE AREN’T EVEN SCRATCHING IT!

Cameron: We are stalling it.

Fancy: For what?!

Morse’s eyes flicked upward.

The tremors now were strong enough to shake dust from above.

Morse: For everyone topside who’s about to wonder what’s causing earthquakes in Oxford.

Fancy’s face paled.

Fancy: Oh no. Oh no no no—

The tunnel shook harder.

And then—

A circle of light opened above them.

Daylight.

Fresh air.

A manhole they hadn’t reached yet—ripped open by the quake.

Jim (shoved Fancy forward):Climb!

Fancy didn’t argue—miraculously. He scrambled up the metal ladder, Cameron right behind him. Then Jim.

Morse lit his hands and turned, delaying the monster for one last second as claws scraped the tunnel floor. Then he leapt upward, climbing fast.

He pulled himself onto the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      At the Castle Gate, the entire building shook like it was a maracas. Papers, mugs, paintings, even shelves fell from the force of the earthquake. CSI Reginald Bright immeadiately barked the other police officers to evacuate the station house.

Bright( mid-run): Where are Morse , Strange and Fancy!?

      DCI Fred Thursday, on the other hand, already had a feeling that Morse somehow was implied into this earthquake and that Jim and Fancy were also culprits. He may be and old war veteran turned into a copper, but he was an old-school copper, with instincts sharper then Morse's swords and a mind too experienced to be fooled. It wasn't the first time when Morse, Cameron and the others caused chaos while saving the city. But this time, he couldn't tell exactly how they were implied , so he decided not to tell the Chief Superintendent about it. But planned to ask Morse what the bloody hell was happening.

       So Fred Thursday walked almost casually out of the station and descended the stairs just in time to see his bagman and his colleagues. Bruised. Covered in dirt.

Morse turned and froze because the first thing he saw…

Was Thursday.

Fedora.

Coat.

Pipe in hand.

Expression caught between fury and fatherly disappointment.

Morse (groaned internally):Oh bloody—

Thursday strode toward them, glancing at the cracked pavement. 

Thursday: What in God’s name is going on? You four look like you crawled through a war zone.

Fancy: No—no war zone.Just… sewer maintenance...Yeah, sewer maintenance.

Jim: Earthquake drill!

Thursday (barked):That wasn’t an earthquake drill!

Morse pinched his eyes shut.

Cameron ran a hand through her hair, trying to think.

Thursday’s gaze sharpened and landed on his bagman.

Thursday:Morse. Explanation. Now.

Morse inhaled—

Then the ground behind them shattered.

The monster erupted from the pavement in a storm of dust and debris.

Thursday (stumbled back, eyes wide):Saints preserve us—

Cameron (shouted):MOVE!

The fight burst into the open street—cars slamming brakes, people screaming and running.

Morse launched fire nonstop, trying to keep the monster focused on him.

Jim dove forward, punching the thing square in the jaw—staggering it for the first time.

Fancy swung his stick, yelling something incoherent.

Cameron sprinted around the creature, leaping and planting a beam of light right between its eyes.

The monster shrieked.

Finally—FINALLY—it reeled back.

Then Cameron gathered every ounce of light she had left, slammed her staff into the ground, and a pillar of blinding, pure-white energy shot upward, engulfing the beast.

When the light faded—

The monster was gone.

Ash.

Smoke.

Silence.

Everybody stared at the place where the monster stood.

Fancy (collapsed on the pavement):We won… right?

Morse (wiped blood from his lip):Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.

Because he felt it before it happened.

The air chilled.

The street dimmed.

A shadow unfolded like tar peeling itself off reality.

And then—

The Master of Darkness stood before them.

Tall.

Hollow-eyed.

Cloaked in black that devoured light and holding his deadly schyte.

Thursday stepped back, hand on his revolver. Thursday: What in God’s name—

Morse (shouted, stepping up):Sir, stay behind me!

Cameron’s light flared.

Jim squared up.

Fancy scrambled to his feet.

The Master smiled, the schyte's neon-yellow blade gleaming.

Master of Darkness: Well, well, well, looks like the Guardians managed to destroy my monster.You children never learn that You cannot stop me.

He lifted one hand.

Darkness whipped toward them like a storm.

Cameron blocked first—light clashing with shadow. Jim swung. Morse countered with his katanas on fire. Fancy tried to back them up—but the Master was quick, elegant, impossible to pin down.

He moved like smoke.

Struck like a blade.

They managed to hit him—twice—enough to stagger him.

Enough to make him flicker.

But not enough to stop him.

And in the middle of the fight, WPC Shirl Trewlove burst out of Castle Gate, blond hair wild, breathless. She saw the battle, the monster, the Master...and George getting hit and threw.

Shirl: GEORGE!

Fancy turned at the sound.

She reached him, hands on his shoulders.

Shirl: Are you alright? 

The Light Guardian ,who clashed with the villain, turned to them. They barely hold on against the villain, let alone to also protect civilians at the same time.

Cameron( barked, yelled): GEORGE, GET HER OUT OF HERE!

    The dark haired Young man stood up and grabbed Shirl by the hand, both running. The Master of Darkness' mind lit up like a bulb as the idea struck him. In one swift move, he broke off.

That moment of opening was all the Master needed.

He looked at Fancy.

At Shirl.

At Morse in front of them.

And he smiled.

Master of Darkness: Found you.

He lifted his hand.

Darkness exploded from his palm.

And time seemed to slow down for the the Light Guardian.

Morse didn't even had time to react— instinct, raw, desperate fear, took over him. His blue eyes widened and a sharp pain exploded into his body as the blast hit him full force.

Cameron (screamed):MORSE!

The Fire Guardian was thrown like a rag doll—into Fancy, into Shirl—carrying them with him.

They slid across the ground—

straight into a swirling portal of darkness that appeared behind them.

Thursday lunged fo

r Morse’s hand.

Jim dove after them.

Cameron reached forward, light stretching desperately—

But the darkness swallowed all three.

And the portal snapped shut.

Leaving the street silent.

Leaving Cameron reaching into empty air.

Leaving the Fire Guardian, the young detective, and the woman he tried to save—

Gone.

To be continued......

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

The fall wasn’t graceful.

The portal spit them out like broken pieces of glass hurled from a fist, sending Morse, Fancy, and Shirl crashing onto cold asphalt. Morse rolled twice, shoulder screaming, arms bruised. Fancy landed on his back with a grunt. Shirl hit the ground on her knees, breath knocked out of her.

Then—

Silence.

Not natural silence.

Dead silence.

Choking. Absolute.

Morse pushed himself up, wincing. The street around them stretched into a grey void. Colourless buildings blurred at the edges, like they were being half-remembered by someone who didn’t care enough to finish painting them. A thick mist crawled across cracked pavement. The sky was a lid of dirty steel, heavy and unmoving.

Fancy (blinked rapidly):W-Where… are we?

Shirl stood slowly, brushing dust off her trousers. 

Shirl: This… isn’t Oxford.

Morse didn’t answer.

Because he saw it first.

A tall, rusted sign standing crooked a few meters away. Its paint was chipped, the letters peeling… but still readable under the grey grime.

WELCOME TO SILENT HILL

Home of Tourism

Fancy’s jaw dropped.

Fancy: No. Nope. Nope. I’ve read some horror forums. This is not— We are not— Morse, tell me this is a dream.

Morse swallowed hard. The cold air hurt his lungs.

Morse: It’s not a dream, George.

The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint smell of ash, decay… something metallic.

Shirl (hugged herself, shivering):Is anyone here?”

No answer.

No birds.

No cars.

No voices.

Just an oppressive quiet pressing down on them like a hand around the throat.

Then—

A distant sound.

A soft metallic groan.

Fancy (looked around quickly):Uh… guys?

The noise grew louder. Grinding. Howling through the fog.

Morse (stiffened):No. Not now.

Because he recognized it.

Somehow, he recognized it.

And a split-second later—

The siren wailed.

A long, brutal, metallic scream that tore through the air and into bone, similar to the ones from WWII. The streetlights flickered. The fog thickened, swallowing all vision. The air grew hotter, as if the world itself was burning from the inside out.

Shirl (flinched):What is happening?!

Morse (grabbed both of them by their arms): Inside. Now.

They stumbled toward the nearest structure—a squat, decaying apartment building with shattered windows and a door hanging off one hinge. They burst inside just as the siren dropped abruptly into silence again.

Fancy( gasped for air):W-Why did it stop like that?

Morse didn’t answer.

Because the hallway lights buzzed and sputtered.

The walls underneath the peeling paint seemed… damp.

And something was dripping from the ceiling.

Thick. Dark. Red.

Shirl( took a sharp breath):Is that blood…?

Fancy (yelped and stepped back):We are going to die.

Morse( trying to play cool):We’re not dying.We stay together. We stay alert.

      But deep down, his necrophobia was already swirling, making his skin crawl and his stomach churn. But he had to stay cool. He had to be level-headed ,protect his officers( because he was their boss) and find a way for all of them to return to Oxford. But first of all was to survive that creepy place. And the aspect did not helped him at all.

     The building’s interior felt like it belonged to a nightmare. Rust ate at the railings. Wallpaper curled and peeled like old skin. The air stank of mold and burnt metal.

Then they heard it.

A door slamming somewhere deeper inside.

And footsteps.

Slow.

Dragging.

Deliberate.

Morse motioned for silence. He moved first, steps quiet despite his heart pounding like a hammer. Fancy and Shirl followed close behind.

They entered a wide hallway. The lights flickered violently overhead.

Fancy (nudged Morse):Why do I feel like something is watching us?

Morse: Maybe it's just your imagination..

     Then Morse peeked though a door and stepped inside the room.

And the door beside him slammed shut.

Fancy shrieked.

Shirl ( ran toward the door and grabbed the handle):It’s jammed!

The door swung shut between them with such a deafening clang that they almost jumped out of their skins, locking Fancy and Shirl inside a narrow, rust-covered room.

Morse spun.

Morse( blue eyes wide):FANCY! TREWLOVE!

He grabbed the door—but it didn’t budge.

On the other side, Fancy shouted and pounded the door with his fists.

Fancy: MORSE?! The door’s locked! We’re stuck— What the hell is— Shirl, we're locked here!

Shirl ( breathing quickened): We need to get out! Morse, hurry!

Morse stepped back, ready to summon flame—

Then the hallway lights died.

Darkness swallowed the corridor whole.

Morse heard something behind him.

Something… wet.

Dragging.

Breathing.

He turned slowly—

And froze.

A figure sat in a rusted hospital wheelchair in the middle of the hallway, illuminated by a faint, flickering emergency bulb.

Her head lolled to one side.

Her dress was torn.

Her skin grey and rotting around the jaw.

Black veins crawled across her arms.

No.

No, this couldn’t be. She was dead. Constance Morse was dead.

Morse( Voice cracking): Mom…

His mother’s corpse looked up.

Her eyes were milky white, throat torn open, fingers twitching uncontrollably. Then her jaw unhinged slightly in an unnatural way—and she stood, bones snapping as she straightened.

Constance:Mmm… E-… Endeavour…

Morse stumbled back, breath stolen. His heart stopped.

This wasn’t her.

This wasn’t real.

Silent Hill was playing with him, dragging out the trauma he buried decades ago.

But her smell.

Her movement.

Her voice—

It was her, twisted into something wrong.

She reached for him with decaying fingers.

Morse( Voice choked):Mother…You’re not real. You’re not her.

She laughed.

A wet, bubbling, horrible sound.

Then she spat a stream of sizzling acid where he stood moments before.

Morse rolled aside, hitting the wall hard.

Fancy (banged harder on the door from the other room):MORSE?! What happened?!

Morse (shouted):STAY INSIDE! DON’T OPEN THE DOOR!

The creature lunged.

Morse dodged barely, sliding along the slick floor as acid hissed where it landed. He scrambled toward the exit door at the far end—but it wouldn’t open. The handle burned cold.

Constance: W-Why do You r-run, Endeavour? I'm y-your mother...

Morse( eyes wide, desperate, screaming): YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER! MY MOTHER'S DEAD!

He slammed his shoulder against the door. Hard. Again. Again.

The monster shrieked behind him.

He felt hot tears escaping and running down his cheeks.

With one last desperate shove—

The door burst open.

Cold fog blasted him in the face as he stumbled onto the street again.

He fell to his knees, chest heaving.

Behind him—the door creaked.

His mother’s corpse stepped out.

Closer.

Morse rose slowly, katanas sheated across his back, flames dancing on his palms.

Morse(whispered): I’m sorry. 

She charged.

Morse flipped over her, rolling across the cracked pavement. Acid splattered where he’d been. He spun, thrust his hand out—and fire erupted like a small sun between them.

Constance hissed and reeled back, skin melting.

Morse didn’t hesitate.

He pushed forward, roaring, flames engulfing the creature’s torso. She shrieked—high and distorted—before collapsing into a puddle of blackened sludge on the pavement.

Morse stood over it, chest heaving, smoke rising from his hands.

He didn’t allowed himself to cry, so he wipped his tears with the back of his hand.

But he trembled.

Fancy barreled out of the building door as it suddenly unlocked,swinging his hockey stick like a madman at Olympics, Shirl right behind him.

Fancy( yelled, skidding to a stop): MORSE! Are you— Holy— what WAS that?!

Shirl ( horrified):Is it dead?

Morse didn’t look at them.

Morse( Voice low): Let’s move.Silent Hill knows we’re here now.

Fancy opened his mouth to ask something—but just swallowed and nodded.

Shirl stepped closer, gently touching Morse’s arm. He didn’t flinch—just inhaled shakily.

They walked together into the fog.

Silent Hill watched.

Silent Hill waited.

______________________________________

OXFORD- The ones left behind

The moment the portal closed, the world snapped back into motion.

Cameron screamed Morse’s name again and slammed her fist into the pavement hard enough to crack concrete. Light flared off her in violent bursts.

Jim Strange grabbed the flickering form of the Master of Darkness before he could dissolve into shadow.

 Jim( growled, holding the enemy practically off the ground with sheer brute strength.):You’re not leaving till you explain what you just did! Not so fast.

Master of Darkness (hissed):Let… go of me, mortal.

Cameron stepped forward, scepter pointed. Her voice shook with fury.

Cameron: You’re going to bring them back.

Master of Darkness (laughed):I can’t.

Jim (shook him):DON’T LIE.

Master of Darkness( cold, hollow eyes gleamed): I’m not lying. Once the town has them… it decides.

Cameron’s breath hitched. Jim’s jaw clenched. Thursday's blood boiled in his veins and he saw red.

Thursday( barked): What Do You mean you can't bring them back, You damn bastard?! If my officers— if my boy dies because of you— I'll tear You in pieces!

Shirl’s scream from earlier still echoed in their minds.

The Master continued slowly, like savoring their panic.

Master of Darkness:But… there is something that might help you.

Cameron (stiffened):Say it.

Master of Darkness: There is a book. A compilation of paths between realms. Darkness. Light. Lost places caught between realities.

Jim loosened his grip—barely.

Jim: Where is this book?

The Master smiled.

Cruel.

Knowing.

Master of Darkness: Scattered. Hidden. Forgotten. Somewhere in this city.But one thing is certain…

His voice dropped to a whisper.

Master of Darkness: You will not find it in one place.

Cameron (straightened, determination burning):Then we’ll search everywhere in Oxford.

Jim (set his jaw):Station House Nr 4. Castle Gate. The university archives. Radcliffe Camera. Every abandoned library we can get into.

Master of Darkness( eyes narrowed): You won’t find it easily.

Cameron stepped closer, eyes glowing silver

Cameron: We’ll find it. And when we do… I’m coming for you.

The Master dissolved into smoke, vanishing from Jim’s grip.

Jim (spat):Cowardly bastard.

Cameron turned toward Thursday, whose face had gone rigid.

Cameron(quietly): Sir.We’re bringing them home.

Thursday nodded once, tight and solemn faced.

Thursday:Then we start now.

And Oxford began to move—

every detective, every Guardian, every ally—

scouring the city for a book older than the foundations of their world.

Because Morse, Fancy, and Shirl were out there.

Lost in a place that shouldn’t exist.

And they were not going to leave them there.

To be continued......

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

    The fog thinned just enough for the building to emerge.

It rose from the white like a corpse surfacing in milk—tall, rectangular, its windows blacked out as if the light inside had been stolen long ago. A rusted sign hung above the entrance, swaying gently on broken chains.

TOLUCA GENERAL HOSPITAL

Morse stopped so suddenly that Fancy nearly slammed into his back.

Fancy: Tell me that’s not what I think it is.

Shirl said nothing. She was already hugging her arms, her breath fogging in short, shallow bursts.

The air around the hospital felt… wrong. Thicker. As if the fog itself was holding its breath.

Morse felt it instantly.

A pressure behind his eyes. A familiar tightness in his chest. Not fear exactly—more like the sensation of being remembered by something that should have forgotten him.

Morse( quietly): No choice.Streets back there loop. We keep walking, we end up right where we started.

Fancy( grimaced):So. Creepy death hospital it is.

The front doors were unlocked.

That alone should have terrified them.

They creaked inward with a dry, aching groan, like old bones bending. The smell hit them immediately—sterile and rot at the same time. Disinfectant layered over something sweet and spoiled.

Inside, the hospital was… clean.

Too clean.

White tiles stretched down long hallways, uncracked, unstained. Fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead. Not flickering. Not broken. Perfect.

Fancy( swallowed):This is worse than blood and guts, you know that, right?

Shirl (nodded):It means it’s pretending.

The doors behind them slammed shut.

All three of them jumped.

Morse spun, grabbing the handle. He yanked. Once. Twice. The doors didn’t budge.

Locked.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. 

Morse: All right. We move forward.

Their footsteps echoed far too loudly.

~~~~~~

The first thing they noticed was the silence beneath the hum.

No voices.

No beeping machines.

No distant screams.

Just the steady, artificial buzz of lights that felt like insects inside their skulls.

They passed:

A reception desk with a thick layer of dust, untouched

A row of wheelchairs aligned too neatly

A flickering digital clock stuck at 3:07

Every door they passed bore a patient name.

Morse slowed.

He leaned toward the closest one.

E. MORSE — ROOM 312

Fancy (went pale):That’s… that’s not funny.

Another door.

G. FANCY — ROOM 314

Another.

S. TREWLOVE — ROOM 316

Shirl stepped back as if slapped.

Fancy( quickly): Nope. Absolutely not. That’s cheating. The town is cheating.

Morse (felt his pulse in his throat):Let’s not assume meaning yet.

They moved faster.

~~~~~~

They reached an intersection where three hallways branched apart. In the center stood a blood pressure machine on a rolling stand. Its screen flickered to life on its own.

A recorded voice crackled through hidden speakers.

“MEASURE THE WEIGHT OF WHAT YOU FEAR.”

Below the screen, three empty cuffs hung limply.

Fancy (stared):It wants… our blood pressure?

Shirl (shook her head):No. It wants a choice.

Below the screen, etched into the metal, were three words:

GUILT — LOSS — SHAME

Morse felt cold creep up his spine.

None of them spoke for a long moment.

Finally, Fancy reached out and tied the cuff beneath LOSS around his arm.

The machine whirred.

Numbers spiked wildly.

The hallway to the left unlocked with a loud click.

Shirl hesitated—then placed her cuff at GUILT.

Her reading surged even higher.

The hallway to the right unlocked.

Morse remained.

He stared at SHAME.

His hand shook only once before he fastened the cuff.

The machine shrieked—an alarm so loud it made Fancy clap his hands over his ears. Red lights flashed. The screen stuttered violently.

Then the center hallway unlocked.

The alarm stopped.

Silence fell heavy again.

Shirl( softly): You okay?

Morse (pulled the cuff off slowly):Let’s keep moving.

He did not look back at the screen, still blinking his impossible numbers.

~~~~~~~~

The unlocked hallway led them deeper.

Hospital beds lined the walls now. All empty. All neatly made.

Except one.

In the middle of the corridor sat a single bed, its sheets tangled, darkened with something old and brown. Above it, a patient chart swayed slightly, though there was no air moving.

Morse stepped closer.

The chart read:

PATIENT: E. MORSE

STATUS: DISCHARGED

DATE: —/—/—

Below that, scrawled in red ink:

CAUSE OF DEATH: PENDING

Fancy( grabbed his arm):We are not doing this. We’re not playing its little therapy games.

As if in response, the lights flickered—just once.

That’s when they heard it.

A soft… dragging sound.

Metal against tile.

Slow.

Somewhere far down the hall.

Fancy (whispered):Tell me that’s not what I think it is.

Shirl (voice was barely audible):Curtains.

They turned.

At the far end of the corridor, translucent plastic privacy curtains billowed faintly around a line of examination rooms.

Behind one of them, a shadow twitched.

A shape, bent wrong.

A limb jerked at an angle no joint should allow.

Then another curtain rustled.

And another.

Fancy (took a shaky step back):They’re behind the curtains. They’re not supposed to come out yet, right? Please tell me they’re not supposed to come out yet.

Morse felt the hospital watching them.

Morse: Move.Now.

~~~~~~~

They followed emergency exit signs down a stairwell into a lower wing of the hospital. The air changed immediately—colder, wetter. Condensation slicked the walls.

Here, the lights did flicker.

Rooms branched off from both sides, many of them sealed by heavy steel doors with number-key locks.

Between two such doors stood a wall-mounted heart monitor.

Its screen was dark.

Beneath it, a keypad.

Above it, another message carved deeply into concrete:

“LIFE IS A PATTERN. COMPLETE IT.”

The monitor flickered on.

A single heartbeat appeared.

Then stopped.

Three empty heart rhythms showed faint outlines beside it.

Shirl( frowned):It wants us to recreate a pattern.

Fancy (frowned harder):With what? Vibes?

Morse examined the nearby doors. Each had a small observation window. Inside each dark room, a faint green outline glowed on the far wall—a heart rhythm frozen mid-beat.

Morse: They’re sequences.We need the correct order.

They split up to study them.

Room One: fast, erratic spikes.

Room Two: slow, heavy beats.

Room Three: a faltering rhythm that skipped every fourth pulse.

Morse compared them.

Then input the pattern.

The machine beeped.

The steel doors slid open.

They had no time to feel relief.

Because the monitor began to scream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From somewhere above them, a sharp metallic footstep hit tile.

Once.

Twice.

Drag.

Step.

Drag.

The sound of something heavy shifting its weight.

The curtains upstairs rustled violently.

Fancy: We solved something we weren’t supposed to solve yet. I hate when stories do that.

They ran.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The unlocked rooms connected into an operating wing littered with overturned equipment. Shadows danced erratically as the lights strobed.

They heard movement now—faster. Closer.

Through swinging double doors at the far end, they glimpsed a glimpse of white.

A figure twitched out of view.

Shirl (whispered): Nurse.

Then the siren began.

Low at first.

A distant wail that made Morse’s teeth hum.

The world did not change.

Not yet.

That somehow made it worse.

They burst into a supply room and barricaded the door with a rolling anesthesia cart. All three of them stood heaving, sweat cold on their skin.

Fancy laughed hysterically for half a second before clapping a hand over his mouth.

Fancy: That was just the teaser. That was the trailer.

Morse’s gaze fell on the far wall.

Three metal cabinets.

All labeled.

MORSE

FANCY

SHIRL

Shirl whimpered.

Shirl: No. No, no, no, no—

The cabinet beneath her name rattled softly.

Once.

Twice.

As if something inside were trying to get out.

The siren outside rose suddenly to a shriek.

The lights died.

Complete darkness.

In the pitch black, something scraped its metal tool slowly against the door.

To be continued.......

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

The scraping stopped the instant the lights died.

For a beat there was nothing but the sound of their own breathing, loud and animal in the hollow room. Morse could feel the blood in his ears. Fancy’s hand trembled against his stick. Shirl’s nails dug crescents into her palms.

Something moved on the other side of the door.

Slow. Precise. Like a surgeon testing an incision.

Then a sound like nails on steel.

Morse (whispered):Stay away from the door.

He could not stop his voice from shaking.

Fancy laughed once—a high, brittle sound that fell apart before it reached a full sentence. 

Fancy: Lovely.

Something hit the door. A dull thud. Nothing gave. Then, quickly, a thin metal bar scraped along the wood, looking for the lock.

The door shuddered.

They had no tools, no phone light, only the faint glow leaking from the hallway where the cabinet names had been, now distant and wavering.

Morse grabbed the anesthesia trolley and pushed it against the door with both hands. It squealed, wheels protesting, then jammed. Fancy shoved another cart behind it, making a poor barricade that meant something and nothing.

The scraping grew louder, a metallic whisper that tasted of cold and rust.

Morse (breathed):On three. We run when it gets—

Before he finished, a small, gloved hand threaded cold through the crack beneath the door and curled. The fingers were long, too long, knuckle-bent wrong. The glove was wet—slick with something that smelled like iodine and old iron.

Fancy had no time to process the image. He gagged.

The hand withdrew and the door gave a long, pained creak as if it had been waiting to break.

They ran.

Morse shoved the cart aside and threw himself into the corridor. Fancy and Shirl followed like frantic shadows.

The hallway had changed. Where they had left a neat supply room now gaped a short, blood-smeared corridor with toppled stretchers and scattered syringes. Ceiling lights swung on fractured cords. The air felt viscous, clinging to skin.

Movement burst from the rows of curtained bays—outlines, hunched and wrong. Little sounds—breathing that scraped like metal across stone.

The nurses stepped out.

Not the kind you might remember from life. Not warm smiles and soft hands. These were bent instruments of cruelty, bodies stitched from wrong pieces of anatomy. Their faces were masked by strips of greasy, yellowed cloth that never unwrapped. Where eyes ought to be there were only blank wet scars or, sometimes, deep fissures that swallowed light. Their mouths gaped in jagged slits or were sealed in sutured smiles.

They moved with a rhythm that was off. Jerk. Pause. Lurch. Lurch. The passing of each step made a soft, wet suction.

The nearest one turned toward them and clicked her instrument against her palm—a metal tray, clinking like a carnival of scalpels. The sound made Fancy’s teeth ache.

The Fire Guardian stepped forward.

Morse( barked, feeling the uselessness of it as soon as the word left his mouth):Back!

      The nurses smelled of antiseptic and rot, of old hospital air turned poisonous.

One slid forward, hips swiveling oddly, hands—gloved hands—reaching. It moved with a staccato grace that betrayed strength at the wrong angles.

Morse struck first, swinging at the nurse’s arm with one of his katanas. The blow felt heavy and wrong; it landed and the nurse only tilted, then leaned closer as if to kiss him with a mouth full of knives. He kicked her and spun in his place. More nurses lunged at him, but Morse flipped over them, slicing them with his katanas mid-air. Another one tried to stab him; he stabbed her and threw her at the other nurses. 

Flesh parted in a wet sound on Morse’s arm where something had grazed him,where his defenders didn't reach , but the cut closed as if the wound was a story the hospital was taking back. He felt the sting, the heat of blood, and the quick, baffling relief of it sealing. The world tilted. A nurse tried to catch him, but he managed, barely, to cut her down with his katanas.

Fancy tried to counter with his stick, stupid and brave and useless. The nurse batted it aside like a fly swatter. Fancy ducked, swinging again—this time the stick met nothing but material and a suction of intent. A hand clamped his wrist. Cold pressure like a vise. He yelled. Jim’s name—he said Jim and the sound was a prayer.

They ran, and the nurses pursued, their limbs jerking in inhuman choreography. In the rooms the curtains twitched, and human shapes pressed against the fabric from within—faces turned toward the corridor, mouths working silently. Somewhere an old patient monitor began to beep out of sequence, like a heart that had forgotten how to be a heart.

They crashed through an operating theatre, surgical lights swinging like moons gone mad. A nurse lunged for the light’s chain and pulled, sending the lamp crashing down. Light exploded and left them for a breathless second as the world became white noise and sparks.

Shards of glass and plastic and sterilized blood sprayed. Fancy skidded, caught a reflection in the broken lens of a light—his face, doubled, stupid with fear. He slammed shoulder-first into an instrument table and toppled, knocked senseless.

Morse dove, seizing him, dragging him clear as the theatre doors slammed with surgical finality behind them.

They kicked through a swinging double door into a recovery ward. A nurse blocked the far end, hands extended like a priest offering damnation. Morse backed down the corridor, forcing Fancy and Shirl ahead like a shepherd driving sheep into a pen. He could feel the nurse’s breath on his neck—cold, stale, smelling of hospital disinfectant and something sweeter, like rotting citrus.

They had to split—there was no other way. The corridor forked into service stairs and a maintenance hatch. Morse shoved Fancy toward the stairs.

Morse: Go! Up!Don’t stop!

Shirl resisted for a second, hands clenched on Fancy’s sleeve. Fancy’s eyes met Morse’s across the lurch of the corridor. He wanted to lunge back. He wanted to be brave. He wanted someone to make the monsters go away.

Instead Fancy obeyed. He and Shirl bolted up the stairs.

Morse turned to face the nurse.

The woman—if she could be called that—lunged with a scalpel that unspooled like a ribbon. Morse twisted and caught the blade on a beam, metal biting into timber. For a second both of them hung there, balanced on the edge of a hinge. Morse fought history and hunger and fear. He lit his blades on fire, Orange flames swirling from them.The nurse went after him, dragging a mass of wheels and metal into the stairwell like a living sled.

Morse ran and used the moment. He jump-kicked and sliced the nurse down into the dark chute of a service lift, and the thing fell with a wet, echoing clatter. A terrible, triumphant sound.

He ran.

He took the stairs two at a time. He burst out into a fluorescent corridor that smelled of bleach and old coffee. At the far end, a service elevator hummed—its doors half-open. Morse dashed for it and threw himself inside, slamming the button frantically. The doors slid shut on the scraping fingers of something that had been climbing after him just as the lift began to plummet.

The elevator dropped three floors. Steel groaned. The world tilted. The lights overhead flickered and then went out, leaving only the thin glow of the floor-level indicator. A jar of surgical needles, knocked from a shelf as they fell, showered the floor with a soft tinkle. Concrete passed in a blur.

When the doors opened Morse stumbled into a room that smelled of old fruit and rust. For a heartbeat he thought he was alone.

Fancy and Shirl were not in sight.

He pounded the elevator button until his knuckles ached, then took the corridor toward the last location his breath memory could find. Room numbers blurred and then stuttered. He found the stairwell they should have taken. And then—above him—he heard Shirl cry out.

He ran up two flights of stairs and found Shirl in a small ward, back pressed against a locked steel door, pale as hospital linen. Fancy crouched beside her, hands covered in a fine red dust that might have been rust, might have been dried blood. His breath came in fast, angling sobs that tried to pretend to be laughter.

Morse: Fancy! Where—what happened?

Fancy looked at him with wide, accusing eyes. 

Fancy: I thought you were dead. She—she got me. I thought— She was right there and then she wasn’t and there was this—this incubator—

Shirl’s hand trembled as she tried to stand. Shirl: There were… babies. Not really babies. Things. And they—”

Morse took him by the shoulders and felt the stick press into ribs. Fancy winced.

Morse: We’re together. We move. No stopping. No looking back.

They moved like ghosts.

They threaded back toward the operating wing, into the part of the hospital where the walls had been dented and the swinging doors had been split off their hinges. In the shadow of the theatre they saw evidence of a fight—broken bedrails, a trailing smear of something black that crawled like spilled ink.

The nurses were fewer now, perhaps thinking the hunt was done. Or biding. Or regrouping.

Morse signaled to the left—an administrative corridor with doors labelled storeroom, linen, records. The sign for “SUPPLIES” hung skewed. He unsheated his katanas, iron grip on them.He touched the metal handle. Cold. Damp. He pushed it open.

For a seconds they were bathed in the sudden, ordinary light of a stockroom—shelves of gauze, boxes of gloves, taped metal drawers. The room smelled so mundane Morse felt his hands shake less. He sheated back his weapons. For now.For a second they could be ordinary people inside an ordinary cupboard.

Fancy laughed a sound like a sob.

Fancy: Is this—this is it? We’re safe—right?

Morse did not answer. He rifled across boxes in the hope of anything useful—a fire extinguisher, a can of surgical gas, a blade they could use to pry doors. He found a battered surgical tray and a length of tubing. He grabbed them both.

Shirl, pale and steadying, slid open one of the metal cabinets to get something for bandaging Fancy’s palm. The metal door stuck and hissed. She pried at it and it stuck and then it gave with a small, obscene clatter.

Inside—on a stainless-steel tray sitting atop sterile packets—was a forearm. Muscular. Dark at the wrist where it had been bloody. A thick ring glinted at the wrist—an old, battered ring with an engraved pattern. The skin was broken, fresh-looking, warm with the sickly sheen of the recently severed.

Fancy’s grin fractured, and his face went from forced bravado to raw, animal shock.

Fancy: Jim—

     The name leaked out like a prayer and a curse.

Shirl covered her mouth and stumbled back, the world tilting. Her fingers scrabbled at her throat as if to hold in a scream.

Morse tasted metal in his mouth. He felt bile rise. His knees gave.

The surgical tray trembled in his fingers. The arm twitched, a reflexive spasm.

Fancy (turned white as paper):This isn’t—this can’t—

The tray slipped. The arm rolled.

Silence slammed shut like a coffin lid.

Outside the supply room, something sighed—a long, slow exhale that sounded like a nurse re-lacing a stitch. The siren resumed, rising like a throat clearing, and the lights in the stockroom dimmed once, twice, three times.

Fancy’s laugh was a broken thing. “Sh—Shirl—Morse—what do we do—”

Morse’s fingers closed around the tray even as he forced his body to stay upright. The arm lay there, a thing impossible and obscene. The ring winked mockingly in the half-light. He had seen that ring before—on Jim’s hand, in the station, in quiet moments over cups of tea. He had sworn once, in a different life, that he would protect that man.

Now the arm lay there, possibly proof of a truth Silent Hill delighted in: the town could copy, could trick, could borrow what it needed to make grief real.

Morse swallowed. The stockroom door stuck. From the corridor the clack of distant heels came—slow, precise. A nurse’s silhouette detached itself from the dark and padded toward the room.

Fancy( voice thin):You have to destroy it. You have to—I don’t want to look—

Morse stared down at the arm. It twitched again, as if something under the skin still lived. The ring slid in the shallow blood and tilted at him.

He set the tray down on the floor with a deaf, metallic clank.

Morse( voice that tried to pretend he was still in control): Listen to me. We don’t take it. We don’t touch it. We leave it. We leave now—

But even as he spoke, the thought came unbidden and sharp: what if it was only a trick? What if they could prove Jim was alive? What if they could carry the arm back and show Cameron?

Shirl’s eyes locked with his. She was small and furious. 

Shirl: We leave.(every letter hard as a knife) We live to find out.

The nurse’s foot paused just outside the door.

Something behind it scraped a scalpel along metal. The sound was a promise.

Fancy’s hand trembled toward the ring, and for the shortest fraction of a second his fingers brushed cold metal as if compelled.

Morse (low and hard): No.

 He stepped and slammed his boot down on the tray, crushing the arm against the tiled floor. Bone cracked with a wet, wrong sound.

For a second nothing. Then a keening noise rose in the corridor—half a howl, half the squeal of a surgeon’s saw. The nurse outside let out a wet, pleading sound that might have been fright, might have been triumph.

Morse didn’t look at what he had done. He took Fancy’s hand and yanked him up.

Morse: Now. Run.

They ran. The hospital opened its throat and swallowed them into corridors and screams.

Behind them, something small—the glove that had been at the door—tattered, collapsed like a discarded puppeteer. The ring lay in crude, dark paste on the tile, unremarkable and obscene.

The siren became the world.

They fled, and the hospital closed like a memory behind them.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

The corridors of Toluca General Hospital seemed to stretch farther than memory allowed. Every turn was the same: white tile, flickering fluorescent lights, the faint scent of disinfectant over decay. The air was thick, suffocating, but it carried no wind, no sound save their own ragged breathing. Even their footsteps felt louder than they should.

Morse led the way, chest tight, muscles coiled. Fancy stumbled beside him, the tremor in his hands not fully gone from the last encounter. Shirl moved silently, careful to keep her balance, eyes darting to shadows that seemed to twitch even when empty.

They had fled the supply room, leaving behind the severed arm that could have belonged to Jim—or not. The image burned in their minds. The hospital had shown them a reflection of fear, of guilt, of loss, and it was not finished.

A soft, dragging sound began behind them. Not the nurses, not exactly, but something else. Something wet. Something large. Morse froze.

Morse(whispered, gripping Fancy’s arm): Stop.

Fancy (hissed):What? Why?

Morse: Listen.

The dragging grew louder, echoing along the walls. It had rhythm. One step, then another. Heavy. Wet. And the sound carried a pulse—something alive.

Shirl (pressed herself against the wall):It’s—It’s not a nurse. It’s—

Morse didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

The hallway ahead branched into three narrower halls, each darkened as though the light had been stolen from them. The siren from the operating wing had faded, leaving a ringing silence that pressed against their eardrums.

Morse: Choices again.Left, right, or center?

Fancy (shook his head):Why can’t anything be simple? Just a normal hospital exit, maybe a nice, boring parking lot?

Shirl (whispered):There’s no boring here.

Morse ignored them, scanning the walls. There were doors, each with small windows. Some had charts attached; others were blank. He noticed a pattern: certain rooms had marks etched into the wall—numbers, symbols, scratches that looked deliberate.

Morse: This is…a puzzle( murmured, kneeling to examine one). Life is a pattern, like the monitor said. These marks…they’re a sequence. We have to follow it.

Fancy (groaned):Can’t we just run?

Morse: Not if we want to live.

They moved cautiously, following the scratches like a trail. The further they went, the heavier the air became. Their lungs burned as if inhaling water instead of air. The walls seemed to close in, the ceilings lower. Shadows moved in the corners of their vision.

Suddenly, a door at the end of the hallway swung open on its own. A faint yellow light spilled out, warm and unnatural.

Morse( held up a hand):Wait.

A sound like whispering drifted from the room. Soft, insistent, almost seductive. The words were not intelligible, but the tone carried warning, threat, and promise all at once.

Shirl (whispered):Voices. We’re not alone.

Fancy (swallowed, stepping closer):Do we go in?

Morse (jaw tightened):We don’t have a choice. This hospital…this town…they don’t let you choose.

He led them forward. The room was small, almost clinical, but the light was wrong: it flickered between gold and green, illuminating walls scrawled with writing, charts that had melted and reformed into something grotesque. In the center stood a large, wheeled mirror, its surface dark, oily, reflecting not their faces but fragments of other moments—rooms they had never seen, faces they recognized but shouldn’t.

Fancy (froze):That…that’s not us.

Morse approached the mirror cautiously. His reflection shifted as he moved, bending unnaturally. Behind him, the hospital corridor extended into infinity. The whispers grew louder, insistent.

The blond woman stepped closer to Morse. 

Shirl: It’s showing us things…things we fear. Don’t touch it.

Morse’s hand hovered over the glass. He didn’t need to touch it to feel its power. His chest tightened, memories of the arm, the nurses, the impossible hospital pressing in.

A sudden crack split the air. The mirror’s surface rippled, like water disturbed. From its depths, a hand emerged—pale, skeletal, covered in rot and grime. Its nails were blackened, curling like claws. The hand grasped at Morse, and he instinctively struck it away, but it reformed, reaching again, faster this time.

Morse( shouted): Run!

Fancy (grabbed Shirl’s hand):Go! Now!

They bolted, but the door behind them slammed shut. The hallway had shifted; the sequence of scratches was gone, replaced by a blank wall. The whispers became laughter, sharp and high, echoing off the tile like knives.

They turned a corner and found themselves in the main operating wing again. The overturned lights, the swing of doors—they hadn’t changed, yet something felt different. The ceiling was lower; the air thicker.

Then they saw it.

A figure emerged from the darkness, limping oddly. One arm longer than the other, its head tilted at a grotesque angle. The nurses had been horrific, but this—this was something else. A thing constructed of wrong angles, a nightmare of flesh and metal, stitched together with what looked like discarded hospital tubing. Its face was a blank mask, eyes black pits.

Morse froze. He recognized it, though it was impossible. Triangle Head.

Fancy’s voice was a strangled whisper. 

Fancy: Oh no. Oh no…

Triangle Head didn’t speak. It simply moved, each step deliberate, dragging its clawed hands across the floor. Morse’s stomach dropped. In the shadow of the creature, he could see the outline of a figure on the floor—someone pinned. Someone small.

Morse (breathed):Joan Thursday.

Shirl (gasped): Inspector Thursday’s daughter?

Morse’s legs moved before his mind could catch up. He ran toward her, but the floor beneath him shifted, giving way. The corridor opened like a trap, and the three of them fell.

The fall was long. Concrete, tile, and metal whipped past them. Morse twisted in midair, trying to shield Fancy and Shirl as they hit the ground in a heap. Pain shot through his side. The hospital above moaned as if alive, walls cracking, floors buckling.

When they landed, they were in another corridor. One side was collapsed, exposing rebar and jagged edges. Dust and fog filled the air. Silence followed—thick, suffocating.

Morse scrambled to his feet. Fancy groaned, rubbing his shoulder. Shirl whimpered, checking her limbs. They were all bruised, scraped, but alive.

Morse took stock. The hospital had changed again. The hall they fell into had no doors, no windows, only long shadows stretching in impossible directions. Above them, somewhere, Triangle Head prowled.

Morse: We have to move.

They crawled forward, the dust choking them. Faint light glimmered from the end of the corridor, but the path was uneven. Cracked tiles and exposed wires gave every step a potential hazard.

Suddenly, a door creaked. Something emerged. Not a nurse. Not Triangle Head. A creature of shadow, coalescing from the dark, moving with speed they could barely track. It lunged.

Fancy yelped, rolling out of the way. Shirl screamed. Morse struck it with his katanas, but the thing passed through them like smoke. He swung again. The shadow coiled around him, cold and solid at the same time, forcing him to the ground.

Morse: Keep moving!

They bolted down the corridor, following the faint light. The shadows chased them relentlessly, whispering and laughing in a thousand distorted voices.

Finally, they reached a large door, heavy, industrial. Morse yanked it open. Beyond was an open area—a kind of atrium. The fog from outside had seeped in, thickening, carrying a cold that felt unnatural. The atrium floor was cracked, puddles of stagnant water reflecting ghostly light.

Triangle Head appeared at the far end, lumbering. Its eyes—black pits—tracked them. The nurses, or what remained of them, swirled at the edges, trailing in the fog.

Morse’s mind raced. They were trapped in a battlefield the town itself had created. There were no exits visible, only fractured walls, half-collapsed ceilings, and the fog.

Shirl( pointed):Over there—stairs!

Morse (nodded):Go! Move!

They sprinted. Triangle Head followed, its heavy steps sending vibrations through the cracked floor. The nurses stayed behind, wavering in the mist, their movements jerky, unnatural.

As they reached the stairs, Morse felt a tug at his leg. Something thin and cold—metallic fingers. He kicked, but the shadow pulled at him like a chain.

Fancy (grabbed his arm):Hurry!

Morse wrenched free, pulling them all up the stairs. The atrium below was chaos incarnate: lights flickered, debris shifted, the air filled with whispers and shrieks.

They emerged onto another floor, quieter but still wrong. The walls were lined with windows, but outside was nothing but fog. A faint glow came from the end of the hall.

Morse: This way.

The light led to another operating room. Unlike the others, this one was empty—clean. White. Unbroken. Almost normal.

Shirl collapsed against a counter, panting. 

Shirl: I can’t… I can’t do this anymore…

Fancy (slumped to the floor):I… I thought we were done with hospitals…

Morse didn’t answer. He scanned the room, noting the surgical tools, the trays, the odd cleanliness. It was a trap. He knew it. Something in the air, the unnatural stillness, the way the shadows didn’t touch this room, told him everything he needed.

Then, from the corner, a door creaked. Morse spun, heart in his throat.

Triangle Head.

And behind it—something darker. A silhouette, towering, impossibly large, wrapped in shadows that seemed to breathe. The Master of Darkness.

Morse’s pulse raced. He has just his katanas, his fire powers, his fists, his instincts, and the two people he had to protect. And he was outnumbered. He couldn't fight those two without getting all of them , or at least himself, killed.

The Master’s eyes glowed faintly, yellow and sick, piercing through the fog of Silent Hill. It raised a hand, and the shadows followed, curling, writhing, ready to consume.

Morse knew they were outmatched. They had fought monsters, but this was the source. The architect. The one who had drawn them into this nightmare.

Shirl (whispered):Morse… what do we do?

Morse (jaw tightened):We survive. We find a way. Whatever it takes.

The Master advanced. Triangle Head lunged from the side. The nurses swarmed the atrium doorway, shrieking in chorus. The trio braced themselves, every nerve alive with terror, every muscle prepared to fight—or run.

Morse raised his swords and took a fight stance, icy blue eyes turning fiery orange, heart hammering. The air was thick with static, shadows pressing in. Every instinct screamed: survive. Protect Fancy and Shirl.

And in that moment, Morse knew one thing: Silent Hill had not yet given them its final hand.

The hospital waited, and it was hungry.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

They left the atrium behind like a wound stitched and still leaking.

Fog pooled at their ankles as they pushed through double doors that refused to stay closed, and the hospital’s architecture began to unmake itself around them. Corridors lengthened into alleys without logic. Doors led into backrooms full of peeling wallpaper, then into stairwells that dropped into restaurants, then into an entire block of forgotten storefronts whose neon signs buzzed the names of shops that had been boarded up for decades. Silent Hill did not respect maps. It borrowed from memory and assembled the result into something meant to punish.

Morse kept his shoulders forward, a shield against both the cold and the creeping panic. Fancy walked with a weird, taut courage—he joked to keep his voice from breaking, and laughter was the thinnest armor. Shirl moved like someone who had learned to steady herself by gripping someone else; she watched the shadows as though the next one would reach in and tear her out.

At some point the hospital survived only as rumor behind them. The town rearranged them toward a different place entirely: a row of terraces with sun-faded curtains, then a small square with a war memorial, then—abruptly—a narrow, cobbled street that ended at the front of a small, two-story police building whose flaking letters still read in a crooked line:

POLICE DIVISION

Morse stopped dead in the square.

Fred Thursday’s coat, fedora, the way he held his pipe—Morse could see the man as clearly as if he’d stood in front of him. The town had taken a familiar building, a memory fragment, and placed it where it could hurt the most.

Shirl (whispered):Don’t let it change everything.

Morse only stared. The street smelled of industry and old coffee. The clock above the police station was frozen at noon. A small brass plaque gleamed—someone’s tribute, someone’s memory. In the distance a bell chimed wrong, as if the world had forgotten how to keep time.

They moved toward the police building because they had no plan that didn’t include moving. It felt like the right place: if the town wanted to show them something, maybe here the image of justice and home would be easiest to face. Or wrongest. Either way, they walked toward the threshold.

Inside, the reception was a shrine to dust. Forms lay in orderly piles, envelopes crooked on the counter, a small paperweight spun and stopped. There was a framed photograph on the desk—a black-and-white image of Fred Thursday with his arm around a little girl. The plaque underneath read:

FRED THURSDAY & JOAN, SUMMERTOWN, 2008

Morse’s breath went thin. He didn’t know why his fingers trembled. He had to look away; his chest tightened with an ache that had nothing to do with heat or cold.

Fancy( Voice small): Do we—do we keep going?

Morse moved to the photograph as if drawn by a magnet, and for a heartbeat the room was normal: the grain of the wood on the desk, the smear of dust on the glass. Then the photograph shifted. The girl turned her head. Not in the photograph. In the room.

Shirl: Miss Thursday?

There she was—small and pale, hair Pitch black and blue eyes still shining. She stood at the far end of the reception area, hands clasped, looking toward them as if she’d been waiting for someone to come back. Her face was wet with a film of tears that weren't falling. Her eyes were enormous.

Morse almost laughed then cried, the useless, animal sound that leaks out when you cannot hold anything in. Joan’s presence punched a hole inside him. The world narrowed to that woman’s face and the taste of salt in his throat.

Morse( Voice broke): Miss Thursday?

She looked at him, then smiled—slow and bright and wrong—and stepped forward.

Morse could see every harmless detail: the way her coat hung, the way her skirt swished, the slenderness of her hands. He began to move toward her because what else do you do when your boss' daughter looks at you like that? He took one step, then another.

Something in the back of his skull whispered of danger. Silent Hill’s surface was sugar. Its center was rot. He should have stopped. He didn’t.

Fancy and Shirl moved with him. Up close, Joan’s smile was different: wide but practiced, too careful. The little bell that hung above the reception door rang in slow time—ding. Ding. Ding—like a funeral rhythm.

Then they all heard the sound far before they saw the thing that made the air change.

A concrete footfall. A scrape of metal that sounded like a cart dragged across tile and bone. A metallic rasp that cut the breath in half.

The shape revealed itself between the stacks of file cabinets and a collapsed filing shelf—a hulking silhouette wearing a helmet that was not a helmet at all, but a slanted prism of rust and iron that obscured the face and made the shoulders look wrong. The figure moved with slow, brutal deliberation, its arms carrying some massive blade that dripped black water.

Triangle Head.

Morse felt his legs go thin in a way that was not just fear. It was memory and lore and guilt condensed into a single, immovable terror. He tried to speak, but the sound came out small and ridiculous. Joan smiled and—without looking—ran.

Morse shouted her name the way a man yells to pull someone from a train, to make space in time for them to step back.

Morse( screamed): MISS THURSDAY!

She turned, and for a breath the light in her face was pure and whole. Then Triangle Head stepped forward like a prayer answered wrong.

Morse lunged, because what else do you do? You move when you can. You fight whatever evil is in front of you. He ran, a human silhouette against steel and fog, and reached for Joan.

And the world refused him.

He moved, and his feet stuck, as if the ground itself was swallowing his steps. His knees felt heavy, leaded with the awful weight of yesterday’s mistakes and the small betrayals he’d convinced himself were not his fault. Panic crashed through him; his lungs seized; his vision narrowed until the world was the size of a doorway.

Triangle Head tilted its head like a statue considering a fly and swung down with a blade that cleaved like a promise. The arc was slow; Morse could see it, could feel the wind before the hit. He moved—until his knees turned to stone. He could not advance. He could take no effective action. His hands scrabbled in air. He shouted. His voice tore, ragged and raw, but it could not cross the distance to her.

Joan stumbled, a small flicker like a candle guttering. The blade fell. She fell.

Morse screamed.

It was not a word. It was all the years of trying to fix things he could not fix and the small, endless grief stacked up like unread cases. The sound started like a choke and finished like a sob. Fancy reached for him, but Morse’s body convulsed, the scream ripping through him. He had seen violence before; he had kept his wits. This was different. It was the town wearing his guilt like armor and using it to render him useless.

Triangle Head stood over her, blade dripping dark, wet substance that hissed on the floor. Joan lay there on the cracked tiles, small and still and impossibly wrong for a living being. A wash of cold spread over Morse as if the world had been stripped to the bones.

He fell to his knees beside her, shouting for help he did not have. For a fractured moment he believed if he could touch her then he could fix it—he could make the blade retract, he could press life back into the hollow places. He reached out and his hands met only cool air. Joan’s eyes were closed, mouth an O of silence. There was nothing under his fingers.

Shirl grabbed at his shoulders, tears hot and real on her face. 

Shirl( cried): Morse— Morse, she—

He tore his hands away as if burned. The world trembled. The town hummed a sound like satisfaction.

Morse’s face crumpled into something feral and small. He wailed as if his heart had been ripped from his ribs. Fancy shouted his name and pried at his shoulders, trying to anchor him. But the thing that had happened could not be un-happened. He had watched and been paralyzed. He had become a witness to a thing that had no regard for witness. The knowledge of that impotence cut into him deeper than any wound.

And then—just as suddenly and with equal cruelty—the scene changed.

Joan vanished.

The tiles were clean; the plaque on the desk was only dust. Triangle Head was no longer there. The police station’s lights flickered and then steadied. The sound of distant traffic — or the imitation of traffic — filtered through the fog like some other town breathing.

Morse curled inward, sobs breaking from him in small, ugly noises. He held his own hands as if to keep them from drifting away. Fancy knelt, awkward and gentle and frightened, and wrapped his arms around Morse’s shoulders in a graceless attempt at comfort.

Shirl(whimpered): Where did she go?

Morse (looked up, eyes rimmed red):She was here— She—

     He could not form the sentence into anything useful. The town had given him the thing most terrible to a protector: the sense that he had failed without a chance to act.

They had only a moment to gather themselves.

The floor beneath them groaned.

A hairline crack stitched the tiles at Morse’s knee. The sound was subtle, an insect’s shift. Then the crack widened in stuttering motion, splitting the world with a sound like a sigh and a scream at once.

Morse and Fancy lunged for each other, hands grabbing at sleeves and belts. Shirl shrieked as the tiles buckled. The light above them slivered into slats, and the sound of stone grinding stone thrummed through their bones.

The ground pitched.

Then, without a second’s courtesy, the world let them fall.

One, two, three steps of free air and then the floor gave and they were going—down—through a hole that opened under the police station as if the town had swallowed a mouth. Dust filled their faces. Edges of tile scraped skin raw. Fancy flailed. Shirl clung to Morse and screamed his name in a small, sharp burst.

They landed hard in a wet, stinking chamber that smelled of oil and rust and something older—ancient and patient. The fall knocked breath from them. Concrete and rebar framed the hole above, and for a dizzy second Morse could see the square of the sky—or the sky that pretended to be sky—far above, like a memory.

They were below whatever passed for the town’s surface, shoved into a rib-cavity of pipes and broken masonry. Water dripped in slow, irregular beats. Somewhere far off a deep echoing clang suggested the presence of something huge moving above, testing the world like a paw.

Morse rolled, breath burning through his chest, then pushed himself up. Fancy lay on his side, hands flexing like a man waking from anesthesia. Shirl sat up slowly, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat or water, eyes enormous and dark.

For a moment none of them spoke.

Then Fancy said, voice small and raw:

Fancy: Where—where are we?

Morse’s hands were raw from the fall. Blood trickled along his knuckles. He swallowed. The taste of iron in his mouth was a promise.

Morse: We go deeper. We find a way out. We find each other. We don’t stop.

He tried to sound like an order, but it sounded like a prayer.

Behind them, above the hole they had fallen through, something moved. The sound was measured and slow: the scraping of metal on stone, the careful steps of something that had been given permission to walk where men were not. In the distance, a single, terrible click sounded—like a blade being dragged free.

Silent Hill listened as they struggled to rise.

Silent Hill was hungry, and it had only just begun to feed.

To be continued......

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

The air smelled of wet stone and rust.

Morse’s lungs burned as he scrambled forward, hands scrabbling on slick concrete, water dripping in thick, cold beads from the ceiling. Behind him, the town of Silent Hill whispered and shifted, an orchestra of wrong angles and impossible corridors, as though the city itself had become a predator and their bodies were bait.

Fancy was ahead, legs pumping like pistons. Shirl clung to Morse’s arm, her grip fierce but light, like a warning: don’t let go. Every step they took echoed through the chamber beneath the police building, a drumbeat of doom that vibrated in their bones.

And then—

A sound.

Heavy. Metallic. A scraping on stone, slow and deliberate.

Morse froze. The shadows above shifted, and for the briefest instant, he could see it: the hulking silhouette of Pyramid Head, moving without hurry, its triangular helmet angled like a question mark of death. Its massive blade dragged across the ground, leaving gouges in the concrete that hissed with some invisible heat.

Morse( snapped, voice hoarse):Move!

Fancy( looked back and stumbled):It—It’s still—how—is it following us?

Morse( growled):There’s no logic here! No—nothing! We don’t argue, we run!

Shirl’s nails dug into his sleeve. 

Shirl: Morse—don’t let it—don’t let it—

The floor beneath them groaned.

A long, thin crack appeared first near Morse’s boot, running across the surface like a jagged scar. Water oozed from it, black and thick, carrying the scent of oil and wet stone. Each step caused the floor to vibrate under their feet, and the groan grew louder, a low, hungry moan.

Morse’s mind screamed orders his body could barely follow. Move. Don’t slip. Don’t trip. Don’t stop. The world around them had lost coherence; walls bent at impossible angles, shadows slanted in ways they shouldn’t. Every step threatened collapse.

Fancy hesitated at a widening fissure. His boots slipped on wet concrete, and he leapt instinctively across, landing with a grunt.

Morse (shouted):Go! Now!

Shirl clutched his arm as they sprinted. The crack hissed and widened, running like a spiderweb beneath their feet. Morse’s heart hammered as the floor began to buckle unevenly, the edges tipping like a trapdoor.

Shirl: Fancy!

Morse turned. The younger man had already jumped across a widening gap. His hand reached back instinctively toward them—but it was too late.

The floor beneath Morse and Shirl groaned and cracked with finality. The metal supports shrieked as they bent, and the world tilted violently.

They fell.

_____________________________

The fall was chaotic. Concrete and splintered wood slammed against their bodies. Dust and water burst into the air, filling their mouths, clogging their noses. Morse’s hands scraped raw along jagged edges; he tasted blood and rust. Shirl’s scream collided with the noise, high and pure, a sound Morse carried instinctively into his own terror.

He tried to reach for her, tried to grab Fancy, but the gravity of the fall didn’t obey reason.

For a heartbeat, everything went black.

When Morse opened his eyes, he was alone.

The chamber they landed in smelled worse than before: mold, oil, rot. The walls were slick and black, veins of water running down them in irregular streams. The floor was uneven, scattered with jagged tiles and the remnants of broken concrete.

His shoulder ached, breath burned in his lungs, and one ankle felt like it had twisted into something unnatural. He tried to move—it responded, but sluggishly. Every movement was a negotiation with pain.

Shirl’s voice reached him faintly, a murmur carried by some cruel ductwork or wind tunnel. 

Shirl: Morse! Fancy! Are you—?

Morse (hands scrabbled against the floor as he pushed himself upright):I’m here!( His voice was rough, a harsh rasp in the darkness): Where are you? Are you—?

The floor above creaked ominously, and he froze. Pieces of debris shifted. Somewhere, metal groaned. He felt the building—or what the town pretended was the building—move.

Then movement closer.

He could hear them: Fancy and Shirl, their grunts, thuds, and small cries. But not together. Not in the same room. Not in a way he could fix.

Morse pressed himself against a wall, listening, ears straining.

A faint, high-pitched drip of water echoed down a hall. Then:

A sound like claws scraping stone.

He turned.

In the shadows at the far end of the chamber, something massive stirred.

The air shifted. The darkness moved, not with the fluid randomness of wind, but with intent, with weight. Morse felt a chill crawl up his spine. The thing above them had eyes.

Two neon-yellow eyes opened.

They glowed faintly, washing the walls with a sick light.

Morse’s heart froze. The figure was huge, larger than anything he had ever seen—tall, broad, black as a shadow squeezed into form. Darkness flowed around it in small waves, pulsating, alive. Its jagged claws scraped the walls as it began to move. The smell of ozone and wet stone flooded Morse’s senses.

Morse( shouted): Fancy! Shirl!

No answer. Only the sound of dripping water and that low, deliberate motion as the creature advanced, slow, testing the floor.

Morse’s mind raced. He tried to estimate its size, its reach, its speed. It didn’t move like a human, but the intelligence behind its steps was undeniable. Each footfall was careful, as if calculating where to crush first.

He risked a glance toward the hole they had fallen through. Above, shadows shifted and small debris fell—his friends were somewhere up there. Or somewhere else entirely. He could not see them.

The creature growled—or something like a growl, low, viscous, reverberating. It tested the air with its neon gaze, and Morse understood: it could sense him. He was alone.

Morse forced himself to think. Options: hide, fight, run. None of them good. Not even his fire powers could save him.

He began to back toward a narrow passage along the wall, keeping low, hands scraping concrete. The black monster followed slowly, claws clicking against stone. Its head tilted unnaturally, observing him.

Morse’s mind pulled him backward into memory: the sewer chase, the collapsing floors, the way Fancy and Shirl had been torn from him. He felt the weight of helplessness, the loss of control over friends, over life itself. Silent Hill’s world had a way of extracting guilt and fear, refining it into reality.

A puddle in the floor reflected the creature’s eyes. Neon-yellow, infinite. It blinked once, then fixed him in place. Morse swallowed hard.

____________________

Meanwhile, somewhere above, Fancy and Shirl had landed together.

The impact had bruised them, twisted limbs, and sent a shard of concrete grazing Shirl’s forehead. Fancy groaned as he pushed himself upright, his arm awkwardly bent at an odd angle. Shirl supported him, her own legs shaky but determined.

Shirl(voice trembling):Fancy… we need to find Morse.

Fancy( wincing as he tried to move):I know. We… we have to… keep moving. Don’t look down, don’t—ugh.

He flexed his arm and tried to ignore the sharp pain that screamed from the elbow.

Around them, the chamber was a ruin: half-collapsed ceiling, jagged tiles, standing water ankle-deep in some places. Silent Hill had dropped them into a maze of wet, uneven floors that were trying to kill them with gravity.

They advanced cautiously, keeping close together. Each sound—drips, distant scraping—made their muscles tense. Fancy’s free hand brushed over a metal railing and sent a small echo bouncing across the chamber.

Something above moved.

Shirl (froze):Did you hear that?

Fancy(whispered): Yeah.And it’s coming down.

A shadow passed across the ceiling. Something large, impossible. The air thickened. Fancy grabbed Shirl’s shoulder. 

Fancy: We need Morse. We need to get him now.

They followed a narrow ledge along a wall, hoping to avoid the creature Morse had encountered below. The sound of claws scraping was closer now, echoing through the fractured floors. Every step was a gamble.

_________________________

Morse pushed himself to keep moving. He rounded a corner, trying to find any exit, any doorway that led away from the black creature.

His ankle gave a sickening twist on a puddle-covered tile. He went down to one knee, pain shooting up his leg. Neon eyes locked on him from across the room. The creature’s claws scraped forward slowly, testing him.

He tried to back up, and something—water, debris, pure terror—slipped beneath him. His hands caught the edge of the wall, nails scraping raw. The creature stopped, tilting its head as if amused.

Morse could not run fast enough. He could not fight. He could only move. And pray.

From the shadows, he heard it—a whisper, maybe, maybe memory, maybe just the echo of his own panic:

Voice: Endeavour Morse…

It wasn’t real. But it sounded real enough to make his knees buckle.

He pushed forward again, crawling now, every movement deliberate, careful. Every step might be the one that tipped him into a bottomless pit.

And somewhere, in the distance, he heard the faintest echoes of Fancy and Shirl calling his name.

Morse (voice broken): Here! I’m here!

---

The creature paused, then lurched forward with terrifying speed. Morse barely had time to roll sideways as claws struck the floor where he had been kneeling. Concrete shattered. Dust exploded into the air.

Morse scrambled to his feet, lungs burning, one ankle nearly giving way. He had no weapon, no aid. Just the will to survive—and the faint hope that Fancy and Shirl were still alive.

Behind him, the black monster’s neon eyes reflected off the wet walls, a promise of violence that Morse could not outrun, not yet.

And above, through the fractured ceiling, light—or what passed for light in Silent Hill—flickered faintly.

The chamber seemed infinite, dark, and patient. Morse stepped forward, uncertain where he would go, only that he had to move.

The last thing he saw before the walls closed in with shadow and water and the scraping echo of claws:

The neon-yellow eyes, fixed on him, unblinking.

Morse swallowed hard, a single, ragged breath. He had nowhere to hide.

And somewhere above him, Silent Hill was watching.

To be continued.....

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

The silence of the lower chambers had been broken. Morse’s ragged breaths filled the damp air as he pressed himself against the wall, ankle twisted, every nerve screaming. Somewhere, deep in the corridors beneath Silent Hill, something massive moved. Something wrong.

He had seen the neon-yellow eyes in the dark, the claws scraping concrete, but now the full shape emerged. Not a shadow. Not a trick of the mind.

A mountain of black flesh, grotesque and alive. Darkness seemed to pulse across its surface, small waves rolling like ink in water. Its body was massive, broader than any human corridor should accommodate. Each step it took resonated through the floor, a low vibration that Morse could feel in his chest, his teeth, his bones.

And it inhaled.

A deep, deliberate breath that sucked the air around it, tugging Morse’s hair toward it as though the very act of drawing breath was a weapon. The sound was deafening, yet horrifyingly silent. The creature’s neon-yellow eyes scanned, fixed on Morse, unblinking, calculating.

Morse’s mind screamed. Run. Hide. Fight. Something.

He turned a corner, limping, his hand scraping the wall for support. His ankle protested with every step. Water pooled on the floor, making the ground treacherous. And behind him, the beast followed. Slowly. Methodically. Learning. Waiting.

____________________________

Above, Fancy and Shirl had scrambled to higher ground. Their landing had been brutal, but together they had managed to find a corridor that seemed less twisted, less immediately lethal. Then they heard it.

A sound that made every hair on their bodies stand on end.

A sucking inhalation, slow, deep, and deliberate.

They froze.

Fancy (face went pale):That… that’s not human.

Shirl (hands gripped his arm):It’s… it’s coming.

Then the screams began. Not theirs, not yet. Something else in the shadows, something else the town had twisted into form, screamed.

And the black giant moved toward it.

From the shadows, smaller creatures—misshapen bodies, twisted limbs, grotesque forms that had once been human—tried to flee. The monster didn’t roar. It inhaled again. Faster. Claws scraping the walls, echoing through the halls. Then, with terrifying speed, it lunged.

The smaller creatures didn’t stand a chance.

Morse heard the impact through the walls: bones snapping, flesh tearing, the wet, horrid sound of death. He pressed himself against the wall, trembling, trying not to look. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop thinking of Fancy and Shirl.

He had to reach them.

________________________________

The black giant seemed almost sentient. Each movement was precise. It adapted to the environment. It learned the angles of the corridors, the cracks in the floor, the places where the walls narrowed. It could smell movement, hear the slight shift of air, see the faintest ripple of shadow.

Morse tried to keep pace, limping, crawling when he could, darting when possible. He has tried his fire powers, but the monster wasn't affected by it; he tried to slash the monster with his katanas, but there was no damage; he had to relt only on instinct and his ninja training.

Ahead, a faint flicker of movement. Another corridor. The walls narrowed. Water pooled deep, sucking at his boots. He could hear the scraping claws behind him growing louder, closer. He risked a glance over his shoulder.

The giant’s body filled the corridor, darkness rolling off it in small waves, like smoke alive. Its neon eyes glowed with sick intelligence. The claws scraped the walls, leaving deep gouges, sending shards of tile flying.

Morse swallowed the scream that wanted to escape his throat.

___________________________

Meanwhile, Fancy and Shirl were advancing down a parallel corridor, drawn by the sound of Morse’s voice and the soft echoes of metal against stone. They had found another door, one that led to what looked like a small stairwell.

Fancy: We have to—

Shirl (grabbed his arm):Wait.

From somewhere above, the inhaling sound returned.

Closer. Faster. The air vibrated. Shadows shifted unnaturally across the walls. Something moved in the corner of Fancy’s eye—something huge.

Shirl( whispered):Fancy…It’s learning.

Fancy (nodded, grim):It’s not just hunting. It’s thinking.

The creature’s claw slammed into a wall near the stairwell. Concrete shattered. Water and dust sprayed them. Shirl stumbled, and Fancy grabbed her just in time.

The air was heavy with the smell of iron and wet stone. The creature paused at the top of the stairs. Its neon eyes swept across them.

It inhaled again.

And then leapt.

_________________________________

Back below, Morse had found a narrow shaft that might lead to higher ground. He pulled himself along, each motion calculated to keep his weight off the floor where the creature could strike. He could hear it adjusting, changing tactics, trying to corner him.

A discarded piece of metal clanged under his hand. The sound echoed through the corridor. Morse froze.

The black giant’s head tilted toward the sound. Its claws scraped the wall in response. It wasn’t fast, not yet—but it was smart. Each movement Morse made was being cataloged, analyzed.

Morse risked a glance at the shadowed figure above. It was impossible to describe the size accurately. The darkness clung to its body like living armor, rolling in waves with each step. Jagged teeth peeked from its maw, neon eyes fixed on him like instruments of judgment.

He turned back into the shadows of the shaft, praying it hadn’t followed him.

_________________________________

Above, Fancy and Shirl had found Morse’s voice again, echoing faintly through the pipes and corridors. They ran toward it, but the black giant was between them. The creature moved with a deliberate grace, its body filling the stairwell, claws scraping like knives through metal.

It didn’t roar. It inhaled.

Fancy tried to circle, Shirl following, but the creature was too large, too fast. The shadows seemed to cling to its body as it adjusted, learned. Every time they thought they had an opening, it anticipated them.

And then it struck.

The claws came down in a swift arc. Fancy barely dodged, feeling the air scrape his face. Shirl was forced to dive aside, the impact of the strike cracking concrete where she had been standing seconds before.

Fancy( swallowed, teeth clenched):We need Morse.

Shirl( nodded):We find him, we take it together. And we need to hurry.

_____________________________

Morse pressed forward. His hands scraped the edges of the shaft. He could feel the vibration of the creature’s steps through the concrete, every movement of its body communicated to him through the floor. He reached a small ledge, collapsing onto it, ankle screaming.

The black giant appeared at the base of the shaft. Neon eyes glowing brighter. Its claw extended into the narrow opening, scraping along the wall, trying to reach him. Morse scrambled backward, pressing against a wall.

It inhaled again.

The suction pulled at the water on the floor, at debris, at Morse himself. He felt himself being dragged forward, but he managed to hold on. Panic threatened to overtake him.

Then he heard it. Above, the scraping, the movement. Fancy and Shirl. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear them.

Morse(shoured): Now!

   He rolled sideways, narrowly avoiding the claw that reached into the shaft.

The black giant hissed—or something like a hiss—retracting slightly, recalibrating. It had learned again.

Morse scrambled forward. He needed to reach the stairwell. Needed to get Fancy and Shirl. Needed… survival.

_________________________________

In the stairwell, Fancy and Shirl were cornered.

The creature’s inhalations were deliberate, filling the space with a sick pressure. Every step it took shook the stairs beneath them. Fancy grabbed a loose pipe and swung, striking at the darkness, striking at nothing. The monster absorbed it like it didn’t exist.

Shirl grabbed a piece of debris and slammed it into the creature’s side. Sparks flew. The neon eyes shifted, scanning, analyzing. It adapted. It learned.

Fancy (cursed under his breath):It’s… too smart…

Then the creature struck. Its claw came down like a guillotine, smashing part of the wall where Shirl had been standing seconds before. Dust and debris filled the stairwell, choking them. Fancy threw himself over Shirl, absorbing some of the force. Pain tore through his ribs.

_____________________________

Below, Morse had reached the bottom of the stairwell. He glanced up, seeing the neon eyes of the black giant above, clawed hands scraping the steps, learning the angles.

He had a plan. Not a good one, not safe—but a plan. He grabbed his katanas and lit them up, glad that his powers hadn't abandonede him; he couldn't do damage before, but he hoped that maybe now he could .He had to protect them all. He had to guide the creature away from Fancy and Shirl.

Morse( shouted, waving katanas):Hey! Over here!

The creature’s head snapped toward him. Neon eyes glowed brighter. It inhaled.

Morse swung the katanas at a small wall panel. Sparks flew. The creature tilted its head, curious, then lunged. Morse barely dove aside as the claw smashed where he had been standing.

He scrambled into the shadows, limping, dragging himself forward.

To be continued......

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

The stairwell smelled of iron and old rain. The world narrowed to the scrape of metal and the wet, terrible breathing of the thing that had pinned Fancy against the concrete. The black giant’s claw was a vise at his throat; neon-yellow eyes burned like furnaces. The darkness pooling under its body pulsed and climbed the walls like spilled ink.

Shirl’s hands were on Fancy’s shoulders, fingers white with strain. She was shouting—sharp, fast—trying to pull him free, trying to wedge a scrap of broken pipe between metal and flesh. Fancy’s face was gone from any bravado; it had the pale, terrified look of a man who has been surprised awake in the middle of the night by a storm that will not leave.

Below them, Morse felt the floor vibrate with a different rhythm: the heavy, learning steps of the monster as it adjusted its weight to keep all three of them within reach. He had one plan and it was not a good one.

He had trained for combat a thousand different ways. He had never trained for being bait.

Morse (screamed, voice breaking the wet metallic air.):Fancy!

      The creature’s head turned, a slow, animal curiosity that made Morse’s inside crawl. For a second, the neon stare fixed on him. It inhaled—in and the pressure sucked at Morse’s lungs. He staggered.

Morse(breathed):Damn it.

 He could hear Cameron’s voice somewhere in his mind—steady, practical—telling him to buy time, to improvise, to use the environment.

He had nothing but the hospital’s broken skeleton and his swords.Tubing, dangling surgical lights, a snapped IV stand, shelves of glass. In the corridor up top, somewhere, the overhead doors were torn, cables like entrails. He had to make the thing move. He had to get Fancy free.

Morse limped, every tendon in his ankle protesting, and ran.

He cut with one katana a rusted surgical lamp free from its ceiling mount and heaved it like a club. Sparks burst as it cracked against a support beam; the creature’s head tilted, the neon eyes narrowing. The blast of motion was enough to make the black giant shift its weight—its claw loosened fractionally. Fancy gasped and swallowed air, lungs screaming.

Morse (yelled):Now!

Shirl didn’t hesitate. She shoved against Fancy’s knee and he, with a sound like a man who refuses to die politely, wrenched himself free. Fancy’s shoulder screamed protest but he threw himself away from the claw’s shadow and tumbled down the stairs.

The monster reoriented in a second, but Morse was faster. He had one advantage the beast did not expect: improvisation born of desperation. He flung the dangling lamp; it swung, struck a wall, cracked a pipe. A fine, oily spray hissed into the air.

Morse pointed his burning swords near a strip of tattered curtain saturated in that oily mist. The flame caught greedily and licked along the fabric, a bright, furious line in the gloom.

The giant inhaled.

The hallway took a breath.

The tiny fire blossomed, flared, and the black beast recoiled as its darkness met heat it could not swallow. For a beat it staggered, an animal confused where its night was eaten by light. Morse saw his door and he took it.

He charged.

Katanas in hand—twin blades that had caught flame a dozen times—Morse’s swords shimmered orange and gold. Fire on metal. He had always used fire as a weapon; here, in the belly of Silent Hill, it had become the only language the thing understood. He felt every old lesson, every kata, every discipline fold into a single, ruthlessly efficient motion.

Morse met the giant in the cramped corridor between rusted lockers and a collapsed ceiling. He ducked under a swipe of claw by a hair’s breadth. The neon eyes tracked him, bright and patient.

Morse moved like a man whose life was burning behind him: step, parry, strike. The blades sang through the air and met black flesh. The monster adapted—its hide thick, the darkness pooling, absorbing first blows like water swallowing oil—but surface flesh tore where the katanas found purchase. Heat hissed, smoke wreathed, and the beast inhaled again, deeper, angrier.

It meant to crush him.

Morse rolled, slashing up under its arm. The blow found something softer—gore and tissue that was wrong, unnatural. The creature howled not with sound but with a wet rumble that made walls tremble. It slammed a foreclaw down, crushing a locker into noise. The impact knocked Morse off balance. Pain flared across his ribs, but he remembered Jim’s hands around him in training: get up. Move.

He did. He attacked again—precise, direct. One katana opened a seam in its chest; the other he drove into its throat, a bright, obscene twin eruption of flame and steel. The creature’s head snapped back and for the first time its neon gaze faltered.

The black thing’s response was not just anger but calculation. It adapted. Where Morse struck, tendrils of darkness flared like a fever across its skin; the wounds did not bleed normally but seethed black smoke. The beast reconfigured, its bulk shifting like a living tide.

Morse felt the heat and the pressure and for a second the world narrowed to the hiss of burning flesh and the ring of his own pulse. He saw Fancy and Shirl over the creature’s shoulder, Shirl daubing at a wound with a rag from her sleeve, Fancy clutching at his own ribs. They were fighting, too—throwing shelves, battering the thing with whatever they could find. Together, a rhythm—three hearts, three sets of hands, one desperate will.

The monster swung a massive claw, knocking shelves, sending glass and metal clattering. It knocked Fancy backwards; Fancy caught himself on a cart and threw a vial into the beast’s path. The glass shattered, sparkling like salt. Something in the beast’s skin smoked.

It learned faster.

Morse knew: they had to end it before it learned everything they could do. He gathered a last stubborn reservoir of strength and lunged, blades flashing, his body an instrument of heat. He drove his katanas deep into the beast’s exposed flank, twisting, tearing. The thing shuddered, a shudder like an earthquake; it convulsed, then roared—or inhaled and every breath sounded like a wail, the sound of a world giving way.

Black smoke poured from the wounds and the creature’s body began to unravel. Darkness pooled and broke apart under Morse’s blades, hissing into the air. For a dizzy fraction of a second, it attempted a final strike of intelligence: it lunged toward Fancy, claws outstretched, reaching for the throat it had almost claimed.

Fancy rolled, screaming. Shirl hurled a heavy tray that found purchase on the beast’s wrist, the clatter a last small victory. And in the same motion Morse twisted, set his feet, and with a final, savage up-thrust the twin blades found the beast’s core—if it had a core—and the black thing imploded.

It did not explode like a body. It collapsed like a shadow made solid: a sickly, metallic implosion of smoke and heat that sucked at everything. Light clawed through the darkness as its body unmade itself. The katanas searedhots and hissed as the blackness burned away at the steel. The thing evaporated into a pile of ash and oily stains on the floor that smoldered and then went cold.

Morse fell to his knees, blades held in numb, hands. He could not breathe for a long moment. The hospital’s bones creaked and sighed. The creature’s neon eyes flickered out as if a bulb had been smashed.

Fancy collapsed into Morse’s arms, every inch of boy finally given to a man’s exhaustion. Shirl wept without sound, forehead pressed to Morse’s shoulder. They held each other in a triangle of bone and sweat and relief, their bodies a small, fierce warmth against the hospital’s chill.

They did not say much. They had no words that would count for all that had just been burned away.

Morse looked at his hands. One katana had bent at the hilt and the other’s edge was nicked deep, temper ruined by former flames and current fury. He wrapped both in his jacket like a soldier tucks a flag, already planning to him them back home, thinking with messy, stubborn gratitude: they lived.

They stood slowly, moving as if their limbs were made of something soft and repaired. Outside, up through the fractured roof, the fog shifted. A thin sound like a bell tolled somewhere in the town, as if Silent Hill were marking the end of its meal.

For a moment there was peace. Then metal cracked. The floor beneath them groaned.

Fancy: Not again.

Morse didn’t answer. He was already moving toward the hole that had eaten them before—as if the town required a final toll, as if it would not let them leave without a last bargain.

They stepped together onto the ring of concrete and the portal opened under their feet like a mouth.

It came without fanfare. One moment the world was ash and tile and the next a cold, bright wind took them and the hospital unmade itself into ribbons of gray. A sensation like falling and then falling through more falling. Shirl had one slender hand clutched around Fancy’s sleeve; Fancy’s face was white but steady; Morse’s jaw was tight and he felt something in him—stiff and unwilling—shift.

They landed hard.

The street smelled like rain and diesel and the particular tang of Oxford evening. The fall tore their breath out in a single rush; for a second the world was full of ordinary things: a lamppost, a puddle, the scuffed steps of the Castle Gate station, a newspaper skidding past in a gust of wind.

People were shouting. Flashlights moved like raised palms. A crowd had gathered—Thursday, Jim, Cameron, officers from Station House No.4, and a scattering of regulars who had watched the street like someone waiting for something terrible to arrive and then leave.

Cameron(shoured): Morse!

   Cameron was already halfway to them, face pale but fierce, brown-green eyes behind cherry red glasses rimmed with a dozen unsaid questions. Jim’s hand steadied her shoulder, his own coat dusted with ash from the insisted fight. Thursday’s face was older than Morse had last seen it, every line a pulled taut wire.

They closed around the trio like tide.

Thursday (barked, relief carving his voice):My lads!

   He reached out and hugged Morse so hard the older man felt the ribs of his bagman. Cameron dropped to her knees and grabbed Morse’s face in both hands, his tears surprising and hot against her skinny fingers.Jim was at Fancy’s side, checking for broken ribs with the blunt practicality of a man used to bodies and bones. Fancy’s grin tried to come back but faltered; he looked at the crowd as if measuring how much the world had changed.

Cameron( voice thick):We thought—

Morse swallowed, the weight of what he had done pressed under his ribs. He could have told them everything. He could have collapsed in the middle of the street and explained the rotten geometry and the smell of ash and the face of Joan and the sound of the monster’s breathing. Words seemed inadequate—too brittle.

Jim gave Fancy a quick, professional once-over. 

Jim:You’re bruised. Some cuts. He’s got a sprain. Nothing broken—lucky.( He nodded to Morse).You, matey?

Morse( forced a laugh into his throat):A few scraps. Clothes ruined. One stupid sword bent.

     He let the lie sit soft and useless.

Fancy stared at his hands, at the bandage on his elbow. He drew his old hockey stick from somewhere it had been strapped to his back—the stick had a crack halfway through the shaft, hairline and ugly. He ran a thumb along the splintered wood and the small, childish sound it used to make—the one that made him a joke in a room full of proper detectives—didn’t come. For a moment the busker grin broke and he looked older than his years, as if something unseen in him had been pinched and left flat.

Around them, the crowd’s mood shifted from stunned to incandescent relief. Someone laughed. Someone cried. The police radio crackled with a thousand little reports: missing persons, structural surveys, emergency teams mobilized. Thursday held Morse’s gaze for a moment that said everything without words: proud, furious, relieved.

Cameron’s voice came low, fierce and soft in the same breath. 

 Cameron( to Morse): You’ll sleep for a month. We’ll make sure you do. Then we talk. Then we find that damned book and we make sure this never happens again.

Fancy managed a half-smile, placing his cracked stick against the pavement with a soft clack. He looked at his friends—their faces, their burns and cuts and ragged edges—and the laugh that tried to hatch was small and hoarse. 

Fancy(croaked): I—uh. I think I missed dinner.

    And for a second the old light flickered. But when the silence returned, he did not make another joke. Something in him was quieter now, a tiny lock that hadn’t been there yesterday.

Morse felt it too: the small, permanent fracture inside them all. The hospital had taken something—memories, edges, the certainty of yesterday—and left a grit that would sit forever under their teeth. But they were alive. That had weight. That was everything.

They walked, slow and reeling, toward their homes.The city around them hummed with life—cars, distant sirens, the small clatter of plates in cafés and the real, ordinary noise of a town that had not been consumed. People stared, nodded, and then life resumed: the world needed to be fed, bills paid, exams written. Silent Hill was a wound they had been pulled away from. They would carry its scar.

The End

Chapter Text

    Chapter 1

     It was a peaceful Saturday morning in Oxford. The sun shone sheepishly from behind the light gray clouds floating calmly on the sky. The city was lively, streets full of students and residents walking down the narrow streets, some enjoying the lovely weather, others enjoying the free time they had. In the distance, the faint echo of honking cars was almost an underwater sound , lost down the streets..and even the old building where Cameron Grey's apartment was.
     A few stray golden rays of sun were falling though the windows and beige curtains, spilling across the matress , the pillows and casting soft shadows across the room. Two long coats , one military green and the other black, were drapped lazily on the back of the desk's chair, the belt of the black one hanging inches away from the floor. Books, drawings, sketches and colourful pencils were scattered across the desk, long forgotten. A tall wooden scepter, ending with a light blue crystal, was leaning against the dresser, while a pair of twin katanas, polished, clean, sharp enough to cut thin air, were leaning against the bed's frame, still in the serenity of the room. 
      In the small, ancient wooden bed, Morse and Cameron Grey layed down, feeling very confortable...and lazy beneath the warm, soft matress. Morse layed on his his side, one arm lazily drapped across her small waist, his face half-buried in the pillow. She was warm, serene, and for once, not the ready-for-action, smart and confident leader of the team.

Cameron( half-asleep):Hm....what time is it?
Morse( looking at the clock from the nightstand):...Six in the morning.
Cameron( nesting better in the matress): This should be an illegal hour...
Morse: But we wake up at this hour almost every day.
Cameron: Not on weekends....
      She shifted slightly, turning onto her back, one hand threading lazily through his hair. He protested under his breath but didn’t pull away. Her fingers were gentle, absent-minded, tracing circles in his coppery curls.
Cameron: Y'know...you don't snore when you sleep. And you don't frown.
Morse: I resent the implication that I might.
Cameron: No, I mean it.You hum.
Morse: I don't.
Cameron( smirking Slightly): You do.Very softly. Like you’re arguing with yourself in your sleep.
Morse (sighed, burying his face into her shoulder): I refuse to engage with this slander before coffee.
Cameron(laughed): Come on, don't be such a grumpy old man! Besides, you hate coffee.
Morse(looking at her): I'm not that old. Also, aren't we the same age?
Cameron: You're still older than me with almost two months....grandpa.
     The Fire Guardian sighed once again and gave up on arguing, making himself more confortable in the bed. He shifted, pressing himself next to the Light Guardian.
Morse: Maybe we should stay longer in the bed.
Cameron: Agreed....

Then the phone ruined it.
The ringtone cut through the quiet like a blade. Cameron froze. Morse groaned.
Cameron: Don’t answer it.
Morse( already reaching for the device on the bedside table):I have to.

One glance at the screen told him everything he needed to know.

DI Fred Thursday.

Morse(exhaled and accepted the call):Morse.
Fred Thursday(voice brisk and apologetic all at once):Morning. Sorry to spoil your plans, lad. We’ve got a body.

Morse (sat up, rubbing a hand down his face):Where?
Fred: Jericho. Student housing. Looks… unpleasant.
Morse: On my way.
He hung up and sat there for a moment, shoulders slumping as the weight settled back into place. Cameron watched him, her expression soft but knowing. She’d seen this shift too many times to mistake it for anything else.
Cameron: Be careful.
Morse(nodded, already reaching for his clothes):I’ll try.
She leaned forward and kissed him—quick, firm, grounding. 
Cameron: Dinner tonight?
Morse: Dinner?
Cameron: Yes.You promised. Here.

He searched her face, looking for the hint of mischief that often preceded complications. He found only warmth. 
Morse:Alright.
Cameron: Good.Don’t be late.
Morse: I always am.
Cameron: I know. And also, hope that Brackenreid doesn't have a crime for me to solve.
Morse rolled his eyes, but couldn't help and be amused by the idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The crime scene was already crowded by the time Morse arrived. Yellow and black tape cordoned off the narrow courtyard between student flats, officers clustered in small groups, murmuring quietly. The air smelled faintly metallic, like rain threatening but not yet falling.
Morse ducked under the tape, nodding absently to familiar faces. His eyes were already scanning, cataloguing details before anyone spoke to him.
The body lay slumped against a brick wall, half-shielded by a discarded bicycle. Throat cut cleanly, almost surgically. Blood pooled beneath him, dark against the concrete.
   Dr. Max DeBryn was crouched next to the dead body, examining carefully the remains.

Morse: Good morning, Max.
Max DeBryn: Well, morning to you too. Not a good one, though? ( He pointed at the dead body).
Morse: Any details about the victim?
Max DeBryn: His name was Oliver Grant. Second-year physics student, based on his schoolar ID.
Morse (crouched, careful not to disturb anything):No sign of struggle?
Max DeBryn: None at all. The death was quick. The knife sliced his throat from the right side to the left side in one move. The blade sliced his carotide and...il a trouvé sa mort.
Morse: Which means he knew his killer.
Max DeBryn: And very well If he met him at 11 PM. That's the time he had died.

Thursday approached, hands on his hips. 
Thursday: You thinking what I’m thinking?
Morse: It was quick.And personal.
Thursday (nodded):No wallet missing. Phone still in his pocket.
Morse glanced around. Windows overlooked the courtyard—too many witnesses for a loud confrontation. He studied the angle of the wound, the way the body had been positioned.
Morse: Whoever did this didn’t want him to fall.They guided him down. Almost… respectfully.
Thursday (frowned):That’s unsettling.
Morse: Murders usually are.
Morse stood, brushing dust from his trousers. His gaze drifted upward, lingering on one particular window. Curtains half-drawn. A faint movement behind the glass.
Morse( pointing out): We need someone to knock on that door.Third floor.
Thursday (followed his line of sight):You think—?
Morse: I know.

The rest of the morning blurred into routine—statements, evidence bags, photographs. Morse moved through it all on instinct, his mind slotting pieces together without conscious effort. Still, something about the scene gnawed at him. Too neat. Too controlled.
By early afternoon, his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten. Thursday clapped him on the shoulder.
Thursday: Pub?
Morse (hesitated, then nodded):Briefly.
They hadn’t gone far when Morse’s phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t work.

Cameron: Don’t forget dinner.

He smiled despite himself and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Thursday: Cameron again?
Morse: Erm, yes sir. We have dinner together tonight.
Thursday: Something fancy?
Morse: No, just dinner. At her flat.
Thursday: Sounds like a date to me, son.
Morse( a faint shade of pink creeps on his cheeks): It's not a date!
Thursday: If you say so...also, Morse?
Morse: Yes, sir?
Thursday: Don't lose her, son.
Morse: I won't.
    They arrived at the pub , Eager & Child, and quickly went in, merging in the cheerful and loud crowd of people.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Cameron’s flat smelled like spices and something baking when Morse arrived that evening. He shrugged off his coat and hanged it on the hanger before he stopped into the kitchen door, leaning on the frame. From his spot, he looked at his leader holding a large pot and multiple forks in her hands.
Morse: Smells good. What did you cook?
Cameron: Something for me to know and for you to guess soon.
Morse: Ouch, you hurt my feelings.
Cameron( rolling her eyes): Very funny. Did you wash your hands?
Morse: What am I, a five years old?
Cameron( raising an eyebrow): Did you?
Morse: Yes, I'm not George Fancy.
Cameron: Good. I still twitch whenever I see glitter like the one he had on his hands last week.
     She moved around the kitchen, placing the pot filled with hot spaghettis with tomato and garlic sauce and shrimps in the middle of the table, followed by....six plates and forks.
Morse: Since when do you cook for an army?
Cameron: Since—

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Cameron: —now. Can you open the balcony door, please? I don't feel like replacing it currently.

Morse raised an eyebrow , but didn't complain. He marched to the living room, opened the curtains...and froze.

Morse: No. Absolutely not.

Four teenage mutant ninja turtles stood cramped in the balcony, holding bags, their weapons...and smiles. And three of them waving.
Mikey( pressing his freckled face to the glass): Cowambunga, Morse! What'cha doing, buddy?

Morse: You again?!

Raph: What, do ya really thought ya could get away from us so easily? Nah. Once ya meet us, ya're stuck with us. Ya can ask April If ya don't believe me.

Morse stared at them. They stared back.
Leo: Can you open up? We've also brought home-made cookies! 
Donnie:Yeah! And there's a 50% chance that you'd love them or want to cut of your tongue and burn it.
Raph( turning to the purple banded turtle): Ya ain't helpin', man.
     Morse looked toward the kitchen, then back to the turtles. He sighed and opened the door of the balcony.
Mikey practically leapt inside, knocking over a small stack of Cameron’s cookbooks.
Mikey: Oops! My bad!
Cameron raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
Cameron: That’s why I asked you not to come in through the balcony.
Raph muttered under his breath, elbowing Mikey.
Raph: Chill, dude. She’ll survive.
Morse, meanwhile, was standing rigid, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Morse: I can’t believe this is happening. Again.
Donnie stepped carefully into the kitchen, glancing at the steaming pot.
Donnie: Uh… the food smells amazing.
Cameron smiled faintly.
Cameron: Thank you. Careful, it’s hot. And please, don’t touch my scepter.
Leo, ever the responsible one, gave Morse a pointed look.
Leo: You did say you’d watch them, right?
Morse groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Morse: Watch them? I don’t even want to be in the same room as you four right now!
Mikey, undeterred, swung onto a chair like it was a throne.
Mikey: Relax, buddy! We’re just here to hang out!
Cameron sighed, shaking her head with a small smile.
Cameron: I promised dinner. You promised to come, Morse. This is your life now. Accept it.

      Morse muttered, looking at the chaotic scene—four green, armed, hyperactive turtles, a bubbling pot of spaghetti, and Cameron standing in the middle with the faintest smirk.

Morse: …I’m going to need a drink before this evening’s over.


To be continued....