Deception

"As we feel, we commit, without thinking twice. That is the primitive human nature we talk about," Evans said, looking down at the body of the 'puissant' Henderson. The man lay on the floor while Miller kept an eye on every minimalist detail he could find, regardless of its importance.

"A simple but shrewd murder," Rick added, examining the room without mercy.

"Indeed. It’s a book of records of Henderson, all cluttered and suffocating," Evans noted.

Rick took a glance at the book. "Heavens have the doors open, but Lucifer is waiting for him to arrive." He looked back at the body. "Blood everywhere. It seems that our murderer didn’t just want Henderson to die, but perhaps to get some taste of it first."

"Hey Rick, it seems to be a simple murder, but fragile and complicated for us," Evans added, scrolling through acts that could not be forgiven.

"Someone is dead and we are here to find out why, not to produce a character certificate for Henderson," Rick replied coldly.

"It’s not a simple murder, Rick. It’s a long-awaited, ruthless revenge," Miller intervened, noticing a glaring detail in Henderson’s blood.

"Indeed it is. See the marks on his neck? He murdered the murderer’s daughter. That is vengeful," Rick added. "His sins are written in such bold ink, even the blind can read his damnation."

Evans spoke with a tongue sharp enough to have killed Henderson himself. "Others are where?" Asked Rick."Chilling" said Jacob. "Why it is so terryfying here!" Excalimed Evans as the crime scene is a ruthless display of revenge."WHATS GOING ON ?" Asked the beloved of Henderson.

"A check on your beloved’s murder? It’s an aesthetic murder, purposed for full payment with interest," Rick added.

"GET OUT!" Mrs. Lyngate screamed.

"Well, you would not like to hear that some slaughter added up to the debt resulting in this bloody return," Jacob said. Rick showed a file of the murders committed on this "bleeding piece of earth" to the women, and they left with tears and the insult of the slaughter.

"Rick, look at the ink. It’s still wet on the final page," Miller noted. "Henderson didn’t write this record. The killer was writing his own future into the dead man’s past."

"Miller, you’re being Trent Boult right now, getting wickets on the first over," Jacob joked.

"More like Mitchell Starc or Mitchell Johnson," Rick added. As he made his way to the exit, he discovered something no pair of eyes had seen. A note: Revenge is sweeter, Hender, when the father kills the daughter’s molester and killer. Your fate.

The Weight of Guilt

The weather was still cloudy, the rain having halted just minutes ago, leaving the scent of thunder persisting in the air. They hopped in the car and a voice spoke, slicing through the air of guilt: "Vive la Miller, mais je ne crois pas que ton existence ne soit qu’une simple perte de temps". Rick fired back at a point that seemed pointless, but what he revealed was a dead stare.

"You just murdered someone," Jacob said.

"Patience, brother," Rick replied coldly.

"Oh my days, look at these," Miller interrupted. He had found explosives and bombs on the boy. "The guy is Erskine de Moore. I knew I should confront him physically, but I decided to choose blood," Rick said.

They drove off to their headquarters with all the evidence sealed and Henderson’s real character unveiled.

The team was surprised to see them walk in.

"The stage is set," Jacob said with a voice that had the frequency of a leader.

"There is enough evidence gathered from both the criminals and us; we need to act quickly and accordingly, as the case is very fragile," Rick commanded.

"We depart at 6 sharp in the morning," Miller said.

"HOW CAN YOU SAY SIMPLY THAT HENDERSON IS A CRIMINAL ON ACCOUNT THAT HE WAS A PUISSANT MAN?" Nathan yelled.

Rick turned with the ferocity of a hundred lions. "Power lures, and it is not for everyone; power is the ultimate measuring stick of a man," Rick said calmly.

The Plan

The evidence contained everything from small to big, in typical "Miller fashion." Seeing guns, gunpowder, and even pens as evidence, everyone was processing their thoughts.

"They perfectly set the stone," murmured Josh.

"It seems they played the powerplay and found more gaps than hitting sixes," Nathan said.

The team met on the field after their workouts and finalized the terms. Rick, Miller, Evans, and Jacob would reach out for their phones, while Nathan, Josh, Natalie, and Jessica would go to the club where Mr. Randon van Meekran would be present.

"The plan is simple," Rick instructed, sounding like a shrewd statesman. "Evans, take your pen drive and laptop. Josh, you will equip the transmitter with a network jammer and manipulate the router so that no one in Henderson’s house shall get internet access from anywhere. I will carry my laptop and connect to the intranet via Smarthub. Miller, if you find anything suspicious, take heed of it. Jacob, you will be looking into Henderson’s details."

He turned to the rest. "For Josh, Nathan, Jessica, and Natalie: play jockey. Let him think he’s in control, for we know when a person is lying. If any mishap happens, inform us and our backup will reach there."advised Miller

"The plan looks bulletproof," Miller advised, as Josh led the charge toward the club and Miller in Henderson’s Mansion.

The Interrogation

The questions were set to be answered the next day. After a peaceful sleep—which Meekran obviously didn't share—they were gathered. Words would no longer be precise; they would carry weight.

"Why did you kill Henderson?" Rick asked with unmatched coldness.

"Because he killed my daughter. So ruthlessly."

The silence between them was no longer empty. It had weight. It had intent. That single sentence cleared any lingering doubts. Rick leaned forward, the shadow of the dim overhead light carving deep hollows into his face. He didn't look like a man seeking justice; he looked like a priest of a dark religion.

"So, the debt was paid in kind," Rick murmured, his voice a low vibration. "Henderson took your light, and you turned his world to ash. Tell me, Meekran—now that the 'aesthetic' is complete and the sink is dry, do you feel the weight lifted, or has the measuring stick simply found you wanting?"

Meekran’s hands were steady on the cold metal table. "Power is not in the killing, Rick. It’s in the refusal to submit. Henderson thought his 'puissant' status made him a god. I showed him he was merely meat and bone."

Miller sat in the corner, his "prowling T-Rex" energy replaced by a cold, calculating stillness. He was flipping through the "Big 3" evidence files: the bat, the knife, the poison.

"You used the poison first," Miller stated, his voice clinical. "The same dose Henderson used on your girl. You didn't just want him dead; you wanted him to experience the minimalist decay of his own nervous system before the knife finished the work."

Jacob, watching from behind the observation glass, turned to Evans. "They aren’t just talking about a murder, are they? They’re discussing an equation. The bloody enfranchisement Miller spoke of—it’s the only law they truly respect."

In tragedies of old, fate struck suddenly. In modern ones, it waited. The silence returned, broken only by a soft, rhythmic tapping. Rick was tapping his pen on the file of Erskine de Assure, the dead 15-year-old.

"The boy was your scout," Rick said, his eyes locking onto Meekran’s. "A child soldier for a father’s war. You claim Henderson was a monster for killing a daughter, yet you sent a son to die by my hand to protect your retreat. Where does the 'aesthetic' end and the hypocrisy begin?"

For the first time, Meekran’s mask slipped. The intent in the room shifted. It was no longer an interrogation; it was a confrontation of two who had both "chosen blood."

The Aftermath

"What about the boy?" Jacob asked as they walked through the cold corridors of the HQ.

"He was just a kid, Rick," Jacob pressed.

Rick stopped, his eyes like flint. "He was a bullet with a heartbeat. In this game, there are no children, only participants. The measuring stick doesn't care about age; it only cares about who is left standing when the ink dries."

Outside, the morning air was sharp, biting through their coats like the scent of a crime scene. Miller held the "Big 3" evidence bag like a holy relic.

"The ledger is balanced," Miller muttered.

"Payment received in full," Evans added, looking at the rising sun.

It was a deceptive morning. It looked peaceful, but they were all carrying the blood of a 15-year-old on their shoes. Rick lit a cigarette, the smoke a grey ghost in the light.

"Power lured,, and it's not for everyone," he said, turning toward the car. "We didn't save the world today. We just watched it burn and took notes on the ashes."

The car pulled away, leaving the HQ behind—a final, silent exit that proved deception was the only truth left.