North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws

Dean, who Massa was nagging about, was flipping through the information in his mind: 'Serial Skinning Case Solved, Experience Points +1,500, L12→L13, Attribute Points +1, Skill Points +1.'

This case doesn't pose much danger, nor does it need to be solved, yet it awards 1,500 Experience Points. Just how many people did these two psychopaths kill...

Dean planned to go back and study this further.

After wandering around the cave, he took a keen interest in the neatly arranged, vast array of tools before him: skinning knives, iron spikes to fix the skin and flesh, chemical agents to remove excess fat, slender pliers for extracting bones from the inside... The tools here were much more plentiful and refined than those in the secret bases of some serial killer movies.

Beyond that, a young girl, with her back skin already sliced open, was lying motionless on a bloodstained stone slab.

It was unclear why this unfortunate girl ended up here. What a pity.

Underneath the stone slab were two neatly placed sets of clothes that looked sinister and nauseating. These clothes featured the faces of men, women, old, and young, all cut into neat ovals and somehow affixed to their surfaces. From a distance, one might mistake these for dark, non-mainstream patterns printed on the fabric. But as the cold wind swept through the cave, those lightweight faces fluttered with the breeze. Even Dean, who wasn't easily fazed, felt a chill run down his spine at this sight. He instinctively averted his gaze, dreading that those faces might suddenly open their eyes and meet his!

COUGH. COUGH.

Just then, a faint cough echoed from deeper within the cave.

Is there someone else?

Dean pulled out his handgun and walked over in confusion. After receiving the panel notification that the case was closed, he recalled having just briefly glanced inside. It was pitch dark, filled with nothing but a pile of rocks then—I didn't see anyone at all, did I?

Following the sound, Dean moved the stones aside and discovered a man, bloodied and battered, buried underneath.

Seemingly sensing the disturbance, the man struggled to open his eyes and hoarsely muttered, "Sally, Sally..."

A feeling of sorrow rose in Dean's heart.

The Sally the man mentioned couldn't possibly be the girl on the slab outside, could she?

Spotting the man's deep, potentially fatal wounds, Dean sighed inwardly, crouched down, and said softly, "I'm Dean, a police detective from Los Angeles. Are you alright, buddy?"

"Detective!" The man reacted as if he had taken a miraculous medicine. His eyes shone in the darkness, and his voice no longer held the weakness of someone at death's door. "Detective, sir," he asked, "have you seen a fifteen-year-old girl with blonde hair?"

"I have. Does she have a cute little pig tattooed on her back shoulder?"

"Yes, that's right. It was tattooed by her mother before she passed away. Is Sally okay?"

"She's fine. We've already sent her to the hospital. She's just unconscious."

"That's good... that's good..." The voice grew weaker until it fell silent.

After a while, a sigh broke the deathly stillness.

Ignoring the blood, Dean carried the man's ravaged body to the front of the cave and laid him next to his daughter. He gently dressed the girl, covering the wounds on her back. He then placed her in her father's arms. Afterward, Dean took the man's arm, trying to arrange it so he could embrace his daughter one last time.

Hmm?

Dean paused, squeezing the blood-stained sleeve of the man's arm.

There's something inside.