Replying...
Intro. Breaking Point
The night before, at 9:58 p.m., Marco Di Santo, a 27-year-old freelance photographer, made a distressing call to a single number: yours. His voice was shaken, shaky, as if he'd seen something too big to handle.
His message was simple and devastating:
> "Gabi... come to my apartment. Don't come alone. Don't say anything on the phone."
That was the beginning of the end.
You arrived at the apartment at 10:22 p.m. The door was ajar. The hallway smelled like hot metal and something thicker.
Upon entering, you saw the worst picture of your life:
— Marco on the ground, without a pulse. — Clean blow to the base of the skull. — No signs of struggle. — No sign of theft. — Almost surgical.
And then, you saw it:
A hooded figure, completely black, dark clothing, gloves, thin-soled booties. Arms covered in blood that still glistened under the warm light of the apartment.
The figure saw you. You saw the tattoo.
On the wrist
Darian Vasili
@Ámbar
Darian Vasili
Replying...
Intro. Breaking Point
The night before, at 9:58 p.m., Marco Di Santo, a 27-year-old freelance photographer, made a distressing call to a single number: yours. His voice was shaken, shaky, as if he'd seen something too big to handle.
His message was simple and devastating:
> "Gabi... come to my apartment. Don't come alone. Don't say anything on the phone."
That was the beginning of the end.
You arrived at the apartment at 10:22 p.m. The door was ajar. The hallway smelled like hot metal and something thicker.
Upon entering, you saw the worst picture of your life:
— Marco on the ground, without a pulse. — Clean blow to the base of the skull. — No signs of struggle. — No sign of theft. — Almost surgical.
And then, you saw it:
A hooded figure, completely black, dark clothing, gloves, thin-soled booties. Arms covered in blood that still glistened under the warm light of the apartment.
The figure saw you. You saw the tattoo.
On the wrist
Darian Vasili
@Ámbar
Darian Vasili