A Curious Exploration of an Unusual World

The rain had faded by the next morning, leaving behind a slick sheen on the city streets. Greymark looked momentarily refreshed, like a weary face splashed with cold water. But under that gloss, the layers of deceit still churned.

Max sat at his desk, sunlight cutting past the blinds in slats. He had barely slept the night before. Between piecing through corrupted digital logs and tracing incident reports his father had once handled, he'd found a few loose ends—each one pulling him deeper into a world he wasn't sure he understood yet.

He clicked over to the local news feed out of habit, scrolling through headlines. One caught his eye:

"Man in Greymark Suburb Detained After Violent Outburst — Claims Neighbor Was a Giant Spider"

Max frowned. The neighborhood mentioned was the same one where he and Ben had spoken to Jonah Reid—the mascot. Curious, he opened the article.

The text sent a chill through his chest.

Jonah Reid, 31, recently on medical leave from a local mall, had been involved in a violent altercation with a neighbor. According to the report, he'd become increasingly paranoid over the last week, culminating in an outburst where he claimed his neighbor was a giant spider and attempted to attack him with a fire extinguisher. No serious injuries were reported.

The article quoted a psychologist, stating that Jonah had been under "long-term psychological strain" and was now being held in a secure psychiatric facility for further evaluation.

Max leaned back slowly.

Jonah had shown no such instability when they spoke to him. Anxious, yes—but clear, coherent, even helpful. Now suddenly declared mentally ill and locked away?

He saved the article immediately, filing it into his encrypted archive.

Just as he began pulling up public facility logs to track Jonah's movements, his phone buzzed.

Grace: Found a lead. Two people captured in a nearby traffic camera. It's close to a private clinic. Looked into the place—seems shady.

---

An hour later, the trio regrouped at a corner booth in a less-frequented café. Their drinks cooled between them, untouched.

Grace pulled up the still from the traffic cam—a grainy image, but the bleeding guy's distinctive frame and the other person 's slouched posture were visible.

"This was taken less than thirty minutes after they left the mall," she said. "The direction matches the clinic's location."

Ben nodded. "We went to the clinic posing as concerned citizens asking about a relative's past visit. Just casual questions at first."

Grace added, "But the moment we mentioned specific dates or anything near the day of the deaths, the tone changed. They said their system had gone through a data migration, and older footage or logs weren't accessible without legal clearance."

Ben frowned. "They claimed it was policy. But the way they said it? It felt rehearsed. Like they were expecting someone to come asking."

Max leaned in. "What's the clinic's name?"

"Crayfield Private Medical," Grace replied. "Supposedly discreet, personalized care for higher-income clients."

Max's fingers tapped against the tabletop. "What about the death certificates and reports of three sucides?"

"Not from Crayfield," Ben said. "We checked. Completely different hospital handled those. This place isn't directly connected to the deaths. But something's off."

Max sat back, brows raised. "And they refused access after hearing the date ?"

"Stonewalled us," Grace said. "We weren't subtle, but they weren't scared. Just… untouchable."

Max was quiet for a moment, then said, "Maybe we need to give them a reason to be scared."

Ben frowned. "Like what?"

Max met their eyes, calm and deliberate. "Find out what they're hiding. Everyone has something. A mistake. A cover-up. If this place is dirty, dig it out—and then offer them a choice. Either they share what we need, or we shine a very public light on their darkest corners."

Ben's leg stilled beneath the table. "You're suggesting blackmail."

"I'm suggesting leverage," Max said. "We're not fabricating anything. Just... reminding them that secrecy comes with a cost."

Grace didn't respond at first. Then slowly, she nodded. "If they've buried anything, we'll find it."

---

The next day, Ben and Grace dove into the clinic's history. They pulled medical records, case reviews, even court documents. Over a span of two years, Crayfield had quietly issued death certificates in several ambiguous cases—terminal patients whose conditions were stable until sudden demise, overdoses under questionable circumstances, and even disappearances.

"Here's one," Grace said, flipping her screen. "Young woman, 28, found dead in her apartment. No signs of trauma. Death certificate signed within two hours. No autopsy."

"Convenient," Ben muttered. "Too convenient."

They compiled the material and returned to Crayfield under the guise of curious citizens looking into malpractice for a friend. When the receptionist tried to stonewall them again, Grace handed over a sealed envelope and whispered, "Give this to your doctor. We'll wait."

Inside, she'd included a list of patient deaths tied to Crayfield's name, all from the last two years. Nothing accusatory—just enough to suggest awareness. The kind of quiet threat that made bureaucrats nervous.

Ten minutes later, they were escorted inside.

The footage they received wasn't complete, but what it showed was enough.

"Technically, hallway cameras aren't protected the same way medical records are," Grace noted as they watched. "So this was the only footage they claimed they were 'allowed' to share."

A hallway camera, timestamped just after the mall exodus. Both the shady figues entered the clinic through the back—faces partially obscured, but in one moment, the bleeding guy turned slightly, revealing a clear side profile. A streak of blood trailed from his temple to his jaw.

"This is the proof," Ben whispered.

Grace nodded. "They were injured. And hiding."

Max studied the screen. "We need to find that bleeding guy. He's the key."

He hesitated, then added, "Before we move forward… something else happened this morning."

Grace and Ben looked up as Max pulled out his phone.

"Jonah Reid. The mascot. He was in the news."

He passed the phone to Grace. She and Ben read in silence.

"He said his neighbor was a giant spider?" Grace said aloud. "He tried to attack him?"

Ben frowned. "That's not the guy we met. He was nervous, sure—but stable."

"Exactly," Max said. "Either something happened to him... or someone made it happen."

Grace scrolled again, her jaw tightening. "He's in a psychiatric facility now. No further comment."

"So now he's legally silenced," Ben muttered.

"If he was targeted," Max said, "then we're dealing with someone who doesn't just erase people. They rewrite them."

A pause settled over the table.

Ben stood. "Then we visit the asylum."

Max nodded. "I'll go with you. We keep it low-key—old acquaintance, distant cousin, something soft."

"I'll find the facility and pull the intake logs," Ben said. "These places don't exactly run on tight security."

Grace tapped her screen. "I'll stay here and run the bodyguard's face through the filter system I used on the mall footage. Might take a while, but if he exists on any public record, we'll know."

Max gave a quick nod. "Let's be careful. If Jonah was silenced, we might be next."

Ben added, "Regroup before sundown. No solo moves."

They each stood and collected their things.

For the first time, the case felt less like a trail—and more like a trap.

---

That night, Crayfield's doctor walked down a sterile hallway, the clinic now empty. He paused at a door labeled "Storage," keyed it open, and stepped inside.

Inside the room, lying slumped against the wall, was the real doctor. His coat bloodied, face bruised beyond recognition.

The impostor smiled, pulled out his phone, and typed a short message.

Done.

---

In the quiet of his father's office, Jonathan Blake reviewed hidden departmental reports on his private terminal. The same footage, flagged by internal protocols, now sat in a secured folder. He rubbed his eyes and leaned back.

"They're progressing faster than I thought," he muttered.

Then, he opened a secure line and typed a message to an old contact in the Internal Regulatory Division:

Possible misjudgment. Recommend deeper investigation. Maintain passive observation.

---

Elsewhere, the Spider's chamber pulsed with the dim hum of information, threads flowing across monitors. Beside him, the mysterious man leaned against a console.

"They blackmailed the doctor, and got the footage," the Spider hissed.

"Not quite," the man replied. "They blackmailed a decoy. The real one won't be missed until it's far too late."

"You're playing too many games."

He smiled, eyes glowing faintly behind his glasses. "Let them play temselves right in the trap, walk on the path i have carefully laid out for them. After all don't you think it would be quite interesting to see how they would react after realising this."

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