A Curious Exploration of an Unusual World

The rain had stopped, but the unease hadn't. Greymark's skyline, washed clean by the storm, shimmered under a cloudy dawn. It was a city that never slept—not because of its noise or pace, but because of its secrets. The layers of half-truths and whispers. And now, three young investigators were starting to peel them back.

Max was the first to rise. He sat in his room, hunched over a spread of printed reports and digital logs. The footage from the clinic had confirmed the presence of the two mystery figures—one of whom matched the injured man seen leaving the mall.

And that had only raised more questions.

He glanced at his phone and tapped out a message to Ben and Grace.

Max: Let's regroup this afternoon. Got a few threads we can pull. Also… I want to visit Jonah.

Jonah Reid—the former mall mascot—was now institutionalized following his violent breakdown. The incident, reported in local media, painted him as delusional. Claimed he attacked a neighbor, screaming something about giant spiders.

But Max remembered their conversation with Jonah. The man had been lucid. Nervous, yes—but not insane.

There was something wrong there. And it was time to find out what.

---

That afternoon, Max and Ben approached the Greymark Psychiatric Observation Facility. A modern building with pale blue walls and tall, narrow windows, the place gave off a clinical serenity—one that did little to calm their nerves.

Grace stayed behind, focusing on digital recon. Ben had arranged a visit under the guise of being a distant cousin. Max played the role of emotional support.

Jonah sat in a padded recreation room, guarded by staff at a distance. He was thinner now, paler, with sunken eyes that tracked movements with twitchy precision. But it wasn't fear on his face—it was confusion. Constant, creeping confusion.

The moment Jonah saw them, he flinched. His hands trembled and his mouth opened, but no words came.

Ben greeted him gently. "Jonah? It's me. You remember we talked, a few days back—about the mall."

Jonah stared. Then his eyes darted to the window, then to Max. He stood suddenly, backing away.

"They're crawling," he whispered. "Still crawling on your faces... eight legs... legs where your mouths should be..."

Max tried to speak calmly. "Jonah, there's nothing on us. You're safe. We just want to help."

But Jonah was already curling in on himself, muttering incoherently. Staff stepped in quickly, escorting the two out.

A nurse explained he was under treatment and sometimes had lucid phases. They could try again in a few weeks.

Max and Ben left, hearts heavy.

"That wasn't just fear," Ben murmured as they walked back to the car. "That was… Like a bad dream he can't wake up from."

Max nodded grimly. "Which means someone wanted him to shut up. Badly."

Inside, though, Max couldn't shake the memory of Jonah's words. Eight legs... crawling... It sounded ludicrous, surreal—but it didn't feel like madness. It felt like something or someone has left an impression beyond his comparison on him.

He made a mental note to revisit Jonah after the case. There had to be more buried beneath those terrified eyes.

---

That evening, after returning home, Max found his father in the kitchen, reading a news article on his tablet with a steaming mug of coffee.

"Hey, Dad?" Max asked, carefully casual. "Can I ask you something about city's political circle? "

Jonathan Blake looked up, one eyebrow arched. "That's a first. Sure."

"I've been hearing some things… about the mayor and his deputy. I get that politics is messy, but is there anything… unusual or intresting I should know?"

Jonathan chuckled, setting the mug down. "Besides the fact that they all lie for a living?"

Max gave a half-smile. "Yeah. That."

Jonathan leaned back. "The mayor—Aaron Dell—has been around a while. Came in on a clean-image campaign, but that never lasts. Rumor is he's more pragmatic than pure. Plays ball with the right people to keep the machine running."

Max filed that away. "And the deputy?"

"Bryce Halden. Ambitious. Too ambitious. Greymark isn't enough for him. I've heard he hates being called 'Deputy.' Thinks the title is beneath him."

Max blinked. "Seriously?"

Jonathan nodded. "Punched a staffer once for saying it in front of guests. It got swept under the rug, of course."

"And do they get along?"

"Publicly, yes. Privately?" Jonathan snorted. "Halden resents the mayor. Thinks he should be running things. The only reason Dell keeps him around is because it's politically useful."

Max pretended to yawn and stretch. "Thanks, Dad. Just… working on something for class. Local power dynamics."

Jonathan gave him a long look but said nothing.

After Max left, Jonathan reached for his secure device, logging into a restricted database. He opened a file titled: BRYCE HALDEN — Redacted Records.

"Careful, Max," he murmured.

---

While Max handled the political background, Grace and Ben followed the trail from the clinic.

Ben tracked down some of Halden's house staff by posing as a researcher for a political podcast. He struck up casual conversations, gained their trust with small talk, and listened closely.

One housekeeper said, "He doesn't like the word 'deputy.' You say that around him, he'll snap. Once, I heard he threw a glass at the wall when someone introduced him that way."

A groundskeeper added, "He's always gritting his teeth when the mayor's name comes up. Pretends to be loyal, but I don't buy it."

Meanwhile, Grace unearthed fragments of old news reports that had been wiped from major archives. Local bloggers had once accused Halden of shady backdoor deals, political sabotage, and leveraging police favors. The articles had all been flagged for misinformation and buried under algorithmic sludge.

Using archived sites and metadata searches, she began reconstructing a timeline. A pattern emerged—one of manipulation, silenced rivals, and favors exchanged in the shadows.

She compiled the findings and pinged Max and Ben.

Grace: Halden's rise wasn't clean. I've got enough to form a sketchy origin story. Also…

Grace: Guess who handled most of the city's data upgrades last month?

Max: Let me guess. Our friend from Crayfield?

Grace: Isaac Cord. Head of Cybersecurity upgrade.

Ben: hmm.. one of our suspects

Max: Perhaps he may not be the mastermind. But definitely close enough to the fire to start a blaze.

---

By nightfall, the trio reconvened in their usual café.

They laid out what they had found. A rough picture emerged:

Halden had been trying to build leverage—maybe blackmail against the mayor, maybe something worse. Isaac Cord, as head of cybersecurity, had the means to help him and cover their tracks.

Something had gone wrong. The victims saw it—or heard it. Three civilians, unrelated but unlucky, fled the mall early. Days later, all were dead. No visible connection. All ruled suicides. Jonah saw them. Now he was gone too.

Ben drew a rough layout of the mall. "Here. Five exits. Three victims. Two suspects. One blind spot—no public camera feed. But that's where the timing lines up."

Grace pointed to a timestamp. "Drop in surveillance at exactly 7:36 PM. Then, within an hour, we see five people leave. Three terrified. Two calm."

Max nodded. "Something happened in that moment. A confrontation. A threat. Or a warning. Halden's bodyguard bleeding. They leave. The others panic. And days later, they're gone."

Ben leaned back. "Jonah saw it. Probably tried to tell someone. Or maybe someone found out he told us."

Grace tapped her screen. "Issac Cord cleaned up digital traces. Surveillance gaps. Deleted forum threads. But not all of them. He made mistakes."

Max tapped the files in front of him. "We hand this in. Officials will take it from here.

Can't wait for too long nor there is much we can uncover with our limited means"

Ben frowned. "And if it disappears with causing any ripples ?"

"Then we watch what happens next," Max said. "But we've done what we can for now."

They all sat in silence for a moment.

Ben finally raised his cup in mock toast. "To solving what we could."

Grace clinked hers. "To asking the right questions."

Max gave a tired smile. "And to knowing this isn't over."

---

Elsewhere in Greymark, dim monitors flickered in a room filled with webbed cables and whispering static. The mysterious man stood before them, arms crossed, eyes focused.

Behind him, the Spider's silhouette hovered in the gloom—its limbs twitching, unreadable.

"They've connected more threads than I anticipated," the man said quietly.

The Spider hissed. "Then we correct course. Cut the web before they reach the heart."

"No," the man replied, his voice calm. "Let them believe they're free. It's only when they think they've escaped that they tug hardest at the snare."

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