The Savage: The Reed Chronicles

The Conversation 

Trevor Brock.

The man I’d come to know as The Savage.

He was a ghost, and we were the only ones who knew he actually existed.

A former war veteran turned vigilante, he’d made it his personal crusade to fight against human trafficking in our country.

I had no idea how he came up with the idea or how he picked his targets, but he did, and he was good.

Very good.

Too good to be caught, at least by anyone else.

Not by me.

Oh no.

I had his number and it was only a matter of time before I caught him.

It was a game at this point.

A cat and mouse game where the winner took all.

Only this game wasn’t fun and games, it was life and death.

He was good, but I was better which is why I had just gotten a tip that he would be in Tampa, Florida tonight.

I'd been tracking him for months now, and he'd eluded my every attempt to bring him to justice so far.

It had gotten to where my superiors were questioning my dedication to my job.

They said I was wasting precious time and resources chasing after a ghost.

But I knew better.

I knew he was real, which is why I couldn't give up on this.

I couldn't allow someone like him to keep stalking the streets.

I had to wonder though what made him the way he was.

What had happened to that war veteran to turn him into a savage?

There was more to him than what met the eye, I was sure of it.

So tonight was the night I’d finally catch up to him.

I didn’t know how exactly, but somehow I knew it would happen.

It was a gut feeling, a feeling I’d never been wrong about before.

It was just a matter of waiting now, so I’d staked out an unassuming dive bar in one of the lesser known neighborhoods in the city.

It was a small place with dim lights and music that was just a little too loud for comfort.

There were several men sitting at the bar and a couple others playing pool in the back.

I sat at a small table in the front corner keeping an eye out for my target, all the while hoping that he showed up tonight.

I’d already been there for a few hours, waiting patiently when he finally walked through the front door.

He took a moment to size up the place before heading over and sitting at the bar, taking a seat three stools down from me.

I glanced over quickly trying to get a look at his face without being too obvious, but all I could make out was his short, dark hair.

He was probably about 6 feet tall and built like a tank.

He was wearing a black leather jacket and faded jeans paired with scuffed up boots. 

He didn’t say anything, just ordered a shot of whiskey which he downed in one gulp before ordering another.

I continued to watch him out of the corner of my eye, trying to remain inconspicuous.

There was no doubt in my mind that this was the man I’d been looking for.

Every now and then he’d glance over in my direction, as though he was sizing me up.

I was pretty sure that he knew I had been watching him.

He seemed to be studying me just as intently, and I wondered what he thought of what he saw.

I met his gaze for a moment and held it, not backing down from his stare.

We looked at each other for a few seconds before he shifted his attention back to his drink.

Despite the fact that he was the one with the power, I could tell that he was curious.

He wanted to know who I was and why I was there, but he wasn’t going to be the one to ask.

We sat in silence for a while longer, each of us lost in our own thoughts until I decided to make the first move.

I waited until he caught my eye again before standing up and moving over to the bar, taking a seat one stool away from him.

He said nothing as I signaled the bartender for a drink, but I could feel him watching me, his gaze heavy on my back.

“You’re a hard man to track down,” I said, meeting his stare confidently.

He didn’t respond immediately, just continued to look at me with those piercing blue eyes.

“And yet, here you are,” he finally said, his voice deep and gravelly.

I couldn’t help but shiver slightly at the tone of his voice, the sound of it sending a strange sort of feeling through my body.

He was clearly sizing me up again as he continued to stare at me, like a predator studying his prey.

I took a moment to gather my thoughts before responding.

This was my chance to say what I needed to say and I wasn’t going to mess it up.

“I want to talk,” I said, keeping my voice level even though I was feeling anything but calm inside.

“And what exactly do you want to talk about?” he asked, still in that same flat, cold tone.

“You,” I said simply.

There was no point in beating around the bush.

He already knew why I was there.

That seem to catch him off guard for a moment, his expression faltering just the tiniest bit.

But he recovered quickly and the hard look returned to his face.

“And why do you want to talk about me?” he asked, his voice dripping with suspicion.

“Because I’m looking to capture you,” I said bluntly.

No use in trying to sugar coat it.

He’d see through that in an instant.

Again he was caught off guard, though he hid it better this time.

His expression darkened even more as he leaned in towards me.

“And why do you want to capture me?” he practically growled.

“Because you’re breaking the law,” I said simply, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.

“So this is about the law?” he asked, a hint of derision in his tone.

“It’s about justice,” I said firmly, my eyes locked onto his.

He laughed at that but there was no humor in it.

“You don’t know a damn thing about justice.”

“And I suppose you do?” I asked, my tone a little too insolent for my own good.

There was a dangerous glint in his eyes as he leaned in even closer.

His voice was dangerously low as he said, “I know more about justice than you could ever dream of.”

I leaned in closer, refusing to back down from his threat.

I could feel the heat from his body as he practically loomed over me, but I wasn’t going to give in to the intimidation.

“You think you’re some kind of hero,” he sneered, his face only inches from mine. “But you’re nothing but a joke.”

I could feel anger bubbling up inside me, but I tried my best to keep it in check.

I had come here to talk to him, not to start a fight.

“You don’t know me,” I said through clenched teeth, my hands curling into fists.

“I know your type,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “You think you’re untouchable, invincible. You think you’ve seen it all, but you’re nothing more than a kid playing dress up.”

That stung, and I could feel my cheeks growing hot with fury.

He was just trying to get a rise out of me, but it was working.

“At least I’m not a coward who hides behind a mask,” I said, my voice rising as my anger got the better of me.

"I don't wear a mask. Believe me. If I kill a man, and I didn't say I did...but I'd want them to know who ended their life. Not just that though, but also why. As I send them to the other side." The Savage assured him. 

“So you’re admitting to being a killer?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Despite my growing anger, there was a hint of curiosity in my tone.

The Savage let out a deep laugh that sent chills down my spine.

“I’m admitting to doing what has to be done, and that sometimes it involves taking a life,” he said, his smile cold and dangerous.

“And who made you judge, jury, and executioner?” I demanded, my voice still raised in anger.

The smile slipped from his face as he leaned in even closer.

His eyes were cold and hard as he said in a low, menacing voice, “I did.”

I met his gaze unflinchingly, refusing to cower before him.

“You don’t get to decide who lives and dies,” I spat.

"Who was there to help Allison? Who is there to help the single mother who's child is being pulled into the criminal underworld? Who's there for that child, or the child who's been handled by a pedophile? They've absolutely nobody to help them, and that's why I do what I do. I kind of like it too. It's exhilarating and a bit rewarding as well."

His words struck a nerve, and I could feel my anger beginning to waver.

I had to admit that he had a point.

The system was broken, and there was no denying that justice didn’t always prevail.

"Who is there for them, detective?"

"The police are supposed to be there for them," I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew they sounded hollow.

" The police do the best they can, detective. However, if they're limited by the same laws they swore to protect. Those who are arrested, and taken into custody and inevitably released a short time later, or given some deal in court." Trevor's expression cold, dark, and voice was low and deep. 

"So you see...that's where I come in. Where the law stops is where I begin. What they're restricted from doing...I'm all too ready to help them. Somebody has to take out the trash, otherwise the whole thing becomes disgusting." 

I couldn’t deny that he made a good argument.

The justice system was flawed, even I couldn’t deny that.

But that didn’t mean that he had the right to be judge, jury, and executioner.

"That doesn't give you an excuse to take the law into your own hands," I said stubbornly.

"Only God can judge me. Because I want you to ask yourself something... Whatever compelled an officer to take the oath and become the law, is that very thing that drove them to take that oath...drives me too detective." 

Trevor orders another round. "You see, detective...those officers are not fully capable to execute real justice, but make no mistake, they want to do it too." 

I didn’t respond immediately, letting his words sink in.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t understand what he was saying, even agreed with some of it.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to take justice into my own hands on occasion.

"You see...the world needs people like myself to get the job done. Donny Williams raped two little girls below the age of 10. The neighborhood gets warned that this scumbag has moved into their world. Why is someone who'd hurt a child back on the streets." The Savage enlightened. 

The disgust in his voice was clear as he spoke about Williams.

The very thought of a man preying on innocent children was enough to make my blood boil.

He’d done his research, that was for sure.

He knew exactly the kind of monster Williams was and what he’d done.

But that didn’t justify him taking matters into his own hands.

There was a system in place for a reason, and it was supposed to keep the innocent safe from criminals like Williams.

But as I thought that, I couldn’t help but wonder how many other Williams were out there, slipping through the cracks in the system and free to hurt more people.

I could see the passion in the Savage’s eyes as he spoke.

He really believed he was doing the right thing, even if it meant going outside the law to do it.

His conviction was admirable, if not dangerous.

But I couldn’t deny that there was a part of me that wanted to believe he was right.

I pushed that part of me down, knowing that I couldn’t let myself be swayed by his words.

I was an officer of the law and I was sworn to uphold justice, not take it into my own hands.

But even as I told myself that, I couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of doubt.

Was the system really that corrupt?

Was there really no other way to deal with the Williams of the world?

I shook my head slightly, trying to clear my thoughts.

I couldn’t let myself go down that path.

"You see, detective. Somebody has to go into the dark places the laws prevent the authorities from going. A place that's so nasty that roaches wouldn't touch it. Dealing with individuals spawned from the devil himself. The worst of the worst. I'm their voice, I'm their hope, and I'll use these skills I've obtained to be the justice they seek." Trevor assured him. 

I had to stay focused and remember why I was there in the first place.

His words struck a chord with me.

It was as I’d thought all along, he wasn’t just doing this for himself or for some power trip.

He truly believed that what he was doing was justice, and for the first time, I found myself actually agreeing with him.

"I understand what you're saying," I said slowly, choosing my words carefully.

"But I still can't condone what you're doing. There's a reason there are laws in place, even if they're not perfect."

He shook his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"You're a naive man, detective. The real world is a lot more complicated than the law books make it look."

I bristled at the insult, but I tried to keep my cool.

He was just trying to get a rise out of me, and I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

"I'm a man trained to kill. To go protect my country from foreign threats, and I'm a man who's lost everything that I've ever had. The ability to live a normal life ripped away from me. I'm not seeking pitty, or want anyone to feel sorry for me. However, it explains why I do what it is that I do." Trevor shoots down his drink.

"My life was ruined. So I'll continue to make sure the next generation of children will not be harmed before they can become the future. They'll find out what kind of world they live in, but in due time." 

I could see the anger and pain in his eyes as he spoke, and I knew there was more to him than just being a hired killer.

But I still couldn’t condone his actions.

"I get that you’ve dealt with a lot of pain," I said, my voice softer now. "But that doesn’t give you the right to take justice into your own hands. You can’t just go around thinking your actions are justified."

He leaned in closer, his face just a few inches from mine.

His hot breath brushed across my face as he spoke.

"Then whose hands will take justice? What would you have me do, detective? Watch as Williams is set free on a technicality and go hurt more innocent children? I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I won't let him hurt anyone else."

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my cool.

He had a point, and deep down, I knew it.

It was a struggle to try and do what was right, what was lawful, when the system failed so often.

"I know you have wanted to take your pistol to blow out, and blow the head off of one of these guys, one of these pedophiles. The one you don't need a jury to tell you is guilty." Trevor checked him.  

I froze, my heart skipping a beat.

How had he known what I was thinking?

He’d hit the nail on the head with that one.

And yet now, facing a man who had done just that, the line between right and wrong was getting blurrier by the moment.

He was the personification of my darkest thoughts, my deepest desires.

"What do you think that child who was molested, violated, and hurt, thinks about the violators walking free, getting short sentences, and not paying the price for a horrific crime committed against them? Fuck your laws and red tape." The Savage explained. 

I couldn’t refute his point.

The justice system sometimes failed the victims just as much as the criminals.

It wasn’t fair and deep down, I knew it.

"I know that the public opinion of me is split, and that the media calls me The Savage, but do you think I'm the only one who does what needs to be done? You'd have to prove these scumbags that end up dead are on me. So I don't know if your boys are out front waiting on me or not, but I'm not guilty of shit. Hell if you put a man like me in a prison, you're putting a fox in the hen house. I'd be surrounded with individuals in need of execution." Trevor grinning as he spoke. 

But that didn’t mean that the law should be thrown out the window.

That didn’t mean that it was up to a man like him to decide who was guilty and who deserved to die.

"I get that you feel like your actions are justified," I said, my voice firm but not harsh. "But you can’t just go around killing people, no matter how much they deserve it. It’s not right."

"Your government created me. Sent me into combat where I saw my partner, my battle buddy, and my best friend, blown to fucking pieces. So they assume I'm not well after such an incident. Tested me and locked me in several military hospitals. I'm well enough to re-enter society, but I'm out of that military job I was better at than anything I've ever done. Some people build shit, others are doctors, lawyers, police officers and whatnot, but I'm a monster created by your government and then released upon you all. I'm a trained soldier and killer. I'm doing what I do." Trevor said. 

His words hit me like a punch to the gut.

I could feel anger and sympathy warring within me.

I was angry that the government had treated him so poorly, that they’d created a monster and then cast him aside.

But I was also sympathetic towards him.

I could understand his anger, his need for revenge.

"Just be glad that I'm hell bent on making the scumbags of society pay for what they did. Because somewhere there's a guy like me, similar situation as mine, but he's not necessarily compelled to get justice, and he's out there. With feelings and memories they can't understand or get away from. When suddenly they become trapped in that memory. Something sets them off. Well you'll have a problem on your hands." 

Trevor signaled the barkeeper for another shot and beer. 

"I don't just kill anyone, random people, or someone who doesn't deserve it, and don't intend to, but I'll have to protect myself." 

I nodded, taking in his words.

I could see the truth in what he was saying.

There were probably others out there like him, just as damaged and lost, but without his sense of purpose.

It was a worrying thought, that there could be an army of killers out there just waiting to snap.

He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on his glass of beer as he took a long sip.

When he spoke again, his voice was soft yet hard as steel. 

"I’m aware that I’m going outside the law, detective. I’m fully aware that most people would call me a murderer. A criminal. A monster. And while all of that may be true, I’m at peace with it. I’ve made my choice."

I could see the determination in his eyes, the certainty in his voice.

He was convinced that what he was doing was right, and there would be no convincing him otherwise.

For a moment, we sat in silence, the weight of our conversation hanging heavily in the air between us. 

I wasn’t sure what else I could say to him, how I could make him see that what he was doing was wrong. 

I was at a loss, and it bothered me.

"I know that you have a job to do detective. I'm not going to stand in your way, but know that I've got a job to do as well, and I will continue on. Evil must be met with equal force."

I sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation.

The more we talked, the harder it was to completely condemn him.

He had a point, and a strong one.

Evil couldn’t be allowed to just continue on unchecked.

"In the end we will all be judged." Trevor Brock said. 

His words rang true.

Yes, in the end, we would all be judged for our actions.

I just hoped that when the time came, I would be able to justify my own actions to whoever was doing the judging.

For now, I had to focus on doing my job.

Finding the criminals and bringing them to justice, no matter how difficult it was.

But there was that nagging feeling in the back of my mind, the thought that maybe there was a part of me that admired Trevor Brock's passion.

"What was that guys name that killed those three little girls four years ago? Rolando Barnes. That was it. Do you know the satisfaction I felt when his body was discovered in a dumpster on the north side of Houston?" Trevor asked.

I winced at the casual mention of the crime.

Yes, I remembered the case.

Three young girls, abducted and murdered by a monster.

The whole city had been on edge.

"I remember the case, yeah," I said slowly, choosing my words carefully, "What about it?"

"He won't do it, again." The Savage replied coldly. A chill went down my spine at his words, at the tone in his voice.

I had no doubt in my mind that he meant what he’d said.

That he’d taken justice into his own hands and made sure that Rolando Barnes would never hurt anyone again.

"Neither will Fred Mendez. The elderly lady he beat and raped. That was the last time for him. This time there was no courtroom to walk out of." The Savage explained in a matter of fact way. 

With each name he listed, I could feel the weight of what he’d done pressing down on me.

I tried to keep my expression neutral, to not show the disgust and horror I felt, but it was hard.

"And you know this how?" I asked, my voice firm.

Trevor looked at Jamison Reed with a 'come on man expression' and then sipped his beer. 

"Listen detective, i know that you wanna do good. I know you go home at night thinking you did good, but you work everyday amongst corruption. You have double agents working right there in your facility. They take police information and they turn it out into the streets. Sold to the highest bidder. Do you think that I do what I do without a contact?" 

His words hit hard.

I knew he was right on that account.

The department was riddled with dirty cops, all willing to sell information to whoever paid the right price.

It had been a constant and ongoing issue.

One that ate at me daily.

"You’re right," I said, nodding slowly. "I know I’m not stopping all the crime. I’m not stopping all the bad guys. But I’m trying. And some of us on the force are still clean."

"Yes. That is the better portion of you. However, as long as you've got cops on the take, you need guys like me. Those who aren't restricted from doing what needs to be done. Also willing to go into the dark where the worst criminals reside."  

I thought for a moment, trying to decide if he had a point.

Part of me didn't want to agree with him, didn't want to think that I needed him to do the things I couldn't.  

But another, bigger part of me had to admit that he was right.  

That there were some low lives out there that needed a different type of justice.

"Maybe you're right," I finally grudgingly admitted, "But that doesn't make what you're doing right. You're still killing people. You're still a murderer."

"I'm not about right and wrong. I'm not looking for gratification or acceptance. I knew the day that I started doing this, that I was going to become what I despise. That I was no better than the criminals I hunt down, but morally there's a difference. The lives that I take are those of criminals who have and will do harm to others. So I'm not going to apologize for my actions." Trevor said. 

I could see the resolute determination in his eyes, the firmness in his voice.

He wasn’t going to back down, and he wasn’t going to change.

I sighed deeply, resigned to the fact.

"So you see yourself as a necessary evil?"

" I suppose you could call it that." Trevor chuckled. 

"And you’ll continue your ‘necessary evil’ as long as there’s criminals out there?"

I asked, feeling a pit in my stomach.

I was a lawman.

His actions went against everything I stood for.

But his logic made sense..

"I will continue until I'm killed or you and your boys take me down. I'm not going to be easy to kill, nor will I be easy to apprehend. Be careful with what you wish for. It could be a damned if you do, and damned if you don't." 

I studied him intently, sizing him up.

He was clearly dangerous, that was evident in his eyes.

He had the bearing of a soldier, a trained killer.

If we ever did clash, he would not go down easy.

Still, I couldn’t allow this to continue.

For all the good his actions did, they were still wrong, and couldn’t be allowed to continue.

"You're caught up in a moral dilemma too, huh Detective Reed? You know what I am doing isn't right, but you wish they allow you to take justice into your hands. You'd have shot that crazy bitch who drowned her children. Hell, who could've blamed you if you did?" Trevor explained. 

I felt a pang of guilt as he spoke, for it was the truth.

There were times when I wished I could take things into my own hands.

To not have to abide by rules and laws that seemed stacked against justice.

But I knew how dangerous it would be to go down that path.

"It’s true," I replied gruffly, "But we can’t start going around shooting people we feel deserve it. We’d become no better than the criminals we hunt."

But the more I spoke, the more I felt my own convictions waver.

He knew exactly what he was talking about.

He knew that many, if not most, cops feel like they're handcuffed.

That they can't do what needs to be done. 

And that it's infuriating.

"It's harder dealing with the bullshit. Trying to keep within the rules while the criminals run rampant." I said, my voice hard, frustration leaking into it.

"I get that you don't understand why I do what I do. I’m sure you think I’m a nut job, a violent psychopath. Hell, you might be right, but I know I do what I do for the right reasons." Trevor told me.

I shook my head, rubbing a hand over my face.

He was infuriating, but for some reason I was starting to see where he was coming from.

I could understand how he had come to be the way he was.

It was still illegal, but his reasons were admirable.

"It's an admirable cause, but the means you use aren't right." I said, my voice flat, "There are better ways to do this."

He laughed bitterly, a harsh, humorless sound.

"Are there? What are those better ways then? The justice system is corrupt. There are dirty cops working every station in this city."

I had no argument for that.

He was right.

There was so much corruption on the force.

The good guys were outweighed by the bad.

A depressing thought.

"Are you telling me you haven't thought about doing what I do? About taking the law into your own hands and doing what you know is right?" He asked, his eyes studying me intensely.

I looked away, avoiding his gaze for a moment.

That was a question with an easy answer.

Yes, I had thought about it.

I was sure every cop had at one time or another.

"I have, yeah." I admitted, speaking quietly so that only he could hear, "It would be a hell of a lot easier. No bureaucratic bullshit, no red tape. Just justice."

He nodded in understanding.

He knew that I was speaking the truth.

It was a common frustration for those who fought to uphold the law, to see it twisted and broken right in front of their eyes daily.

"So tell me something," Trevor said, leaning back in his seat, "Do you think that you're a good man, detective?"

I looked at him confused for a moment, thrown by the change in the conversation.

"I try to be," I replied cautiously, not sure where he was going with this.

"Because you're a cop, right? Because you uphold the law? You try to protect the innocent and defend the weak? That's how you define a good man, isn’t it?" Trevor asked, his voice taking on a mocking tone.

I bristled at his words, feeling a pang of guilt.

He was baiting me, and it was working.

Still, I held my ground.

"And what do you think makes a man good?" I fired back.

He chuckled, the mocking tone changing to an amused one.

"That’s a complicated question with a complicated answer." He said, his eyes locking with mine, "But to answer my own question, the way I define a good man is quite different. A good man to me is someone who is honest and true to himself. Someone who doesn’t lie or cheat or deceive others. Someone who takes direct action to right injustices."

I studied him for a moment, trying to figure out why he had asked me that.

It was a strange question.

But I couldn’t deny that he had a point.

"And that’s what you describe yourself as?" I asked, my voice holding a hint of challenge.

"Sure, yeah." He said, his lips curling up into a sly smile, "I can confidently say that I'm honest and true to myself. I don't lie, or cheat, and I'm sure as hell not a politician. I see something wrong, I do something about it. I take action. I don't wait for someone else to take care of it for me. I'm not saying I'm perfect, no one is, but I do what I think is right. I sleep like a goddamn baby every night."

I couldn’t fault his logic, even though I wanted to.

He was a man of conviction, and he seemed utterly sure of his actions.

I had to admit I was impressed by that, even if I didn’t agree with his methods.

He took a sip of beer before continuing.

"So what I’m getting at, detective, is that it’s harder than it seems to define what a good man is. You might think you’re a good man because you uphold the law. But at the end of the day, you really aren’t any more good than me. In fact, I’d argue that I’m doing more actual good than you are."

"Think about it, detective." He said, his tone casual, "You can arrest a drug dealer, and he’ll be replaced by another the next day. You can arrest a killer and lock him away, and another will rise up to take his place. You're not making a real difference. You’re just putting out fires that will always start again. That’s not true justice. I’m taking out the source. The root of the problem. It may not be pretty, it may not be right, but it’s effective. "

I listened to his words, unable to shake the feeling of doubt growing in my mind.

He was speaking the truth, and it was a difficult truth to handle.

I had dedicated my life to being a lawman. 

To trying to make a difference in the city.

And here he was, telling me that it all amounted to little.

He seemed to sense my conflict, and he leaned in closer.

"I know it’s hard to hear, detective. I know you’re good at your job and that you want to make a difference, but the truth is that the city is more corrupt than you could imagine. You’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg." He said, his voice low and steady, "If you want to see real change, you’ll need to get your hands dirty. It’s the only way. You’re a smart man, you know I’m right."

His words hit me like a punch in the gut.

He was right.

I knew he was right.

I had only seen the surface of the city's corruption.

Every day I came up against the roadblocks and obstacles put in place by the dirty cops who ran the system.

The urge to throw my badge on the floor and tell him I would do it his way was so strong it almost overwhelmed me.

"It's a hard truth to swallow, isn't it?" He said, his voice quiet, "You want to be a good man, and I understand that. It's a noble pursuit, but it's naive, detective. The world isn't as black and white as you want it to be. There's no room for honor and integrity in a place like this. You have to do what needs to be done."

"You’re a good cop, and I’m sure you’ve done some good in your time. But let’s be honest here." He said, his eyes meeting mine and holding my gaze firmly, "How many criminals have you put away that are still on the streets? How many dirty cops have you let go because their actions didn’t cross the thin and fragile line of what’s considered ‘legal’?"

I felt my heart sink as the reality of his words sank in.

He was right.

I had let slide things that I had known to be wrong simply because I didn’t have the power to do anything about them.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

"You’re frustrated, I get it. I’ve been there. You want to do the right thing, but every time you try, some dirty cop blocks your way. You feel like it’s an uphill battle. And you’re right, it is." he said, his voice soft, "But there’s a way to climb that mountain, detective, and it’s to stop playing by the rules."

If we all did that, son, it'd turn things into the wild west again. I've been doing this a long time. The system believes in rehabilitation. Whether I agree with it or not, isn't the point. It's the system and the parameters I have to work with. You don't have those parameters, but you are not within the law. I honestly have come to like you, during our meeting. You do know that when we walk out those doors the game is on. Because my job is to stop you as much as it is to stop them." Jamison Reed takes a drink of beer. 

"Regardless of my opinion, and regardless of my feelings on the situation, my superiors expect me to bring you in. They want me to build the case, and they want you off the streets. There is nobody outside waiting for you. This is no kind of set up. You've been elusive, and I don't have the proof needed to arrest you." Detective Reed said. 

Trevor didn't respond right away.

He studied me intently, his eyes flickering over my face, taking in every nuance and micro expression.

It was a tense silence, both of us waiting for the other to speak first.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet and controlled, "The system is broken, detective. It's more corrupt than you know and it's rotten to the core."

"Maybe so," I agreed, holding his gaze, "But that doesn't give you the right to act as judge, jury, and executioner."

"I know. I'm in the wrong once, but the good that comes from my one wrong, comes with multiple rights. Lives are changed and impacted for the good. God forgive me, because I am gonna leave a lot of men dead, but it's a necessary evil. Because god damn detective, the lives I will be benefited. The child that doesn't have to worry about being touched and appropriately ever again. The family that doesn't have to mourn the loss of a murdered loved one. So they can have detective, what was taken from me. So they don't have to lose the way I did. So when I stand up, I stand for something."

I could hear the conviction in his voice, the passion behind his words.

He believed what he said wholeheartedly.

It was an admirable cause, but I couldn't condone the means by which he chose to achieve it.

"Yes. I'm a serial murderer. So what? What now,detective? You think I should just come turn myself in?"

"You're not being clever, I already know you won't do that." I said, my voice steady.

"It would probably keep me from having to kill a lot of your men in the long run. I'm no cop killer, but when you send them after me, and its me or them...well you know." Trevor was being straight with him. 

"You could always just leave the city. Disappear quietly." I replied, although I knew I was wasting my breath.

"Yes. I could move on and become someone else's problem. Let someone else deal with it, huh?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just suggesting alternative options that don't involve you going on a mass killing spree."

"I'll eventually move on. I've left several times and returned. I feel an obligation to Houston. This is one of the best cities it the world. Do you know what brought me to Houston?"

"No. Why don't you tell me?" I said, my interest piqued.

"Because those responsible for Allison's murder ran here. Nothing less, and nothing more." 

That information was surprising to me, to say the least. He'd tracked them here and hunted them down. That level of dedication was impressive, if not misguided.

"You know there's always someone else, waiting to take their place. There's a never-ending cycle of corrupt criminals. You kill one, two more rise up. It's a losing battle." Detective Reed said. 

"Maybe so, but I feel better doing something about it."

"Something violent and illegal," I pointed out.

Trevor smiled. "Yes, sir." 

I sighed and took a sip of my beer, trying to think of some way to get through to him. He was unrepentantly dedicated to his cause, no matter how misguided it was.

"Look, I understand you have a grievance that you need to set right. And I can understand wanting to get justice for your wife. I do. But you have to know that what you're doing, it's not right. You shouldn't take the law into your own hands. The system isn't perfect, but it's what we have." I tried to reason with him.

"I agree. In a perfect world. That's not this one, detective." The Savage defended. 

I nodded begrudgingly. "I know. I see it every day. I know the system is broken. But that doesn't mean we just resort to acting like vigilantes. There are other ways to make a difference. To really change things for the better. What you're doing, it does more harm than good."

"Would you vote for me if I ran for mayor?" Trevor asked. 

I stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds before laughing, "What? You've got to be kidding me?"

"Of course, but you see I do my part my way." 

I stopped laughing, trying to discern whether he was being serious or not. "You actually want to run for mayor? With your record, I highly doubt it'd be successful."

"No...but I still have a civic duty like the mayor." Trevor said. 

I cocked an eyebrow at that. "Civic duty? You make it sound like you're doing Houston a favor by murdering people."

"Oh, I am. Make no mistake about that. I'm taking out the trash." 

"And who made you the sole judge of that, huh? You don't have the authority to just decide who gets to live or die. It's not up to you to decide who's trash or not."

"You see, detective, those folks don't care what you or I call it. They want to know that these predators are not going to hurt them. Not walking free based on some technicality." 

I sighed, realizing that I wasn't making much headway on changing his perspective. The man was resolute in his beliefs, no matter how flawed they were.

"I understand where you're coming from, but you're not the only solution to that problem. There are other ways to protect people, besides resorting to extrajudicial murders."

"You're not even giving a chance for a fair trial. You're just making the decision yourself, playing jury and executioner." I pointed out, trying a different approach. 

"What about rehabilitation? Giving criminals a chance to change and make amends?"

I grunted, annoyed, but not really all that surprised by his reaction. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You'd rather just kill the problem than try to fix it."

It was clear that I wasn't going to change his mind, but I felt like I had to try. "You do realize what you're doing is only making things worse, don't you? More violence leads to more violence. It's a never-ending cycle."

"And what do you think the families of the people you've killed think? Have you ever stopped to consider how you're impacting them? You're making them suffer just as much as the people you're avenging." I persisted, hoping to get through to him somehow.

"Have you considered that a child molester doesn't deserve to live? Addicts ruining families, murderers separating loved ones. Harming anyone and everyone in their path?" Trevor asked. 

"Of course I have," I admitted, "But it's not up to me, or to YOU, to decide who deserves to live and who doesn't. The system, broken as it is, is in place for a reason. It gives people a chance to face justice, to repent, to make amends."

"Putting on the kid gloves , with a killer. Not my idea of a wise move." Trevor tried to explain. 

"It's not about putting on kid gloves," I snapped, my patience wearing thin. "It's about giving everyone a fair chance. Even the worst criminals have rights. It's part of being a civilized society."

"We aren't as civilized as we think." Trevor said. Then winked at a woman in a short skirt.

"Yeah, I'm seeing that pretty clearly right now," I muttered, not missing the lecherous wink he gave the woman.

Trevor laughed. "I guess we've all got our weaknesses." 

"Some of us just know how to control them better than others," I retorted, giving him a disapproving look.

Trevor stood up. "I'll try my best, detective. You keep letting them roam free, and I'll keep wiping them out." "Yeah, I'm seeing that pretty clearly right now," I muttered, not missing the lecherous wink he gave the woman. He said, as he paid his tab.  

"Take care of yourself, Savage." I said, standing up. "Try not to get yourself killed."

"I'll try my best, detective. You keep letting them roam free, and I'll keep wiping them out." Trevor said. 

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, watching him stand and start to walk out. I had a feeling this wasn't going to be the last time I'd see him.

The Savage

The call came in at around 9:45 am. There was a body found in a rental house on Houston's north side. 

It was a grisly sight. The place was torn apart. The victim was beaten to death with a table leg. Which was left beside the body. 

"What in the fuck? Somebody really had it in for the victim." Reed said. 

"Yeah, no kidding," I agreed, looking at the carnage. This wasn't just a simple kill. It was personal.

"Detective?" An officer shouts from the dining room area. 

"What is it?" I asked, heading over to the dining room.

It was a note to detective Jamison Reed. The detective walked over to see what was written on the blood stained notebook. 

"What does it say?" I asked, eyeing the notebook with curiosity.

Detective Reed, 

We all have a cross to bear. A war to fight. A dog in the race. I don't know if I'll see you again on the other side, but I'm more sure than I was before of your decency. We are not that different, you and I. 

This guy thought he was meeting with an eight year old girl. The transcript will be emailed to your office shortly. He did two years in prison for beating a woman and her child and torturing them until the pair finally managed to escape his wrath. Two fucking years? Justice wasn't served, my dearest friend. Not at all. Well, now it is. Debit to society is paid. 

As I read the note aloud, I could feel my anger rising. It was clear that this killer not only felt justified in his actions, but also seemed to have a certain amount of respect for me.

"This guy's completely delusional," I said, shaking my head in disgust. "He thinks he's some sort of righteous avenger, handing out justice wherever he sees fit."

"Do you think the killer drew this picture of a skull on the next page?" The officer asked. 

"Surely he wouldn't stay around to show off his art skills." Detective Monroe commented. 

Detective Reed was still thinking about the note. Then he looked at the drawing of the Skull. 

"He said that he's more sure of my decency than he was before. What could that mean?" I mused, trying to make sense of the killer's words.

"It seemed a bit personal to me too, but what do you make of it?" Monroe asked. 

"I don't know," I admitted, still trying to work it out. "It almost feels like he knows me in some way. Or at the very least, he's very familiar with my work and reputation."

"Do you know this victim somehow?" Monroe asked. 

"Not as far as I know," I replied, looking down at the body. "But I don't recognize him. His face is too smashed in and bruised to tell if I've ever seen him before." 

I took a step back, letting out a heavy sigh. "We need to find whoever did this, and fast. I have a feeling he's not done yet."

"It seems as if he's trying to prove something to you."

I nodded. "That's what I thought too. He thinks we're similar somehow, that we share some common ground. It's like he's trying to bond with me, connect with me in some way."

"Perhaps he's an ex cop." Monroe suggested. 

"That's a possibility," I agreed, considering the idea. "But why would he be killing these criminals instead of taking them into custody? And why would he think that he and I are alike?"

I shook my head, frustrated. "There's something I'm missing here. I just wish I knew what it is."

"Greg...keep those reporters outside, please." Detective Monroe said. 

"I'm on it," Greg replied, heading outside to deal with the growing crowd of reporters and rubberneckers.

"Should we put some protection on you when you're off duty?" Monroe asked. 

"I appreciate the thought, but I think I can handle myself," I replied, somewhat reluctantly.

"Besides, I doubt this guy is going to come after me directly. He seems more interested in proving some point to me than harming me."

"Look at the overkill here. This person is deranged. He set this victim up by posing as an eight year old girl. Once a meeting was arranged he slaughtered our victim. Knowing of previous crimes the victim committed. The perpetrator did their homework." Monroe pieces it together. 

"That's true," I agreed, nodding. "He did his research and took advantage of this guy's weaknesses. He's not just a killer, he's a hunter. He likes to play with his prey before he goes in for the kill."

"Which means he's probably watching us right now," I added, feeling a chill run down my spine. "He's probably getting off on this, watching us talk about him and try to figure out his next move."

"We need to be careful," I continued. "This guy is smart, and he's calculated. We can't let our guard down for a second."

"I'll put in a call to Captain Hernandez and have him assign a couple of patrol officers to keep an eye on you, just to be safe." Monroe offered.I let out a sigh, knowing that it was probably a good idea. 

"Fine. But I don't want them following me around everywhere I go. Just keep a little distance and observe."

"Hey that's not up to me, boss."

Monroe laughed. I rolled my eyes at his response. "Yeah, yeah, very funny." 

I glanced back towards the body, my mind still trying to work its way through all the clues. "We need to find out more about our victim. Dig into his past, see if we can find any connection to the killer."

After we investigated the crime scene that morning calls continued to come in. Two more bodies were found by noon. The same MO. Extreme overkill as he wiped out the victims.

"Yeah, I saw the notes left behind," I replied, anger starting to bubble up in me. "Did they all have similar online activities?"

"We're not sure yet." 

"Well, whatever it is, this guy's doing his homework," I said, shaking my head. "He knows exactly who to target, and he's taking them out with no mercy."

"And judging by the brutality of these killings, he's not planning on stopping anytime soon." I added, a sense of dread settling in my stomach.

"We need to find out everything we can about these men. Their past connections, their associates, anything that might lead us to the killer." I said, frustration clear in my voice.

"We'll keep working on it," Peterson assured me. "But something tells me this case is going to get a lot messier before it's solved."

"Yeah, I'm afraid you're right," I replied, looking down at the photographs of the three victims. "This guy's got some kind of agenda, and he's not going to stop until he's made his point."

"Hey, we got some more information on the victims," Peterson said, holding up a few sheets of paper. "Looks like they all had one thing in common."

My ears perked up at his comment. "What is it?" I asked, sitting up straighter in my chair.

"They all met at a therapy group for pedophiles and offenders," he said, looking at me intently. "Looks like the killer is targeting them through a support group."

"Exactly." Peterson confirmed. "And we also checked the phone records, the victims all texted the killer. So the killer likely posed as a child online, led them to meet up."

"Damn," I swore. "This guy's good. He's using their own sick desires against them."

"It's pretty twisted," Peterson agreed. "And with these text messages he was able to learn a lot about their lives, so he knew exactly how to take them out."

"So the killer is basically acting as judge, jury, and executioner." I said, running a hand through my hair. "He's taking justice into his own hands."

"It appears that way," Peterson replied. "And I have a feeling he's not going to stop anytime soon. Especially given the fact that these three victims were only the first three."

"Or are they? They're the first we know of...right?"  

"Jesus." I shuddered. "Yeah, good point." 

The thought of more victims out there sent chills down my spine.

"This could potentially be an ugly situation." 

"No kidding." I agreed, taking a deep breath to try and calm my nerves. "What you said earlier, about this guy being a hunter... that's exactly what it feels like. He's toying with us, and he's probably enjoying every second of it."

Detective Monroe opened the door. "We've got five men dead. They're over at the old drywall factory." 

I let out a deep breath, my shoulders sagging. "Not again," I muttered, rising to my feet. "Alright, let's go. We need to check out the scene ASAP."

"Do you think it's him? So far his attacks have been one on one." Peterson asked. 

"It's hard to say," I replied, already heading towards the door. "It certainly seems like his work, given the victims' pasts. But the fact that he's chosen a more public location this time is unusual. And if it is him, he's escalating more quickly than I thought."

"I'm gonna ride with you Jamison." Peterson said. 

"Sure thing," I replied, feeling a mix of relief and trepidation as I followed him out to the car.

As I approached the scene, the gruesome sight made my stomach turn. I've seen plenty of brutal murders in my time, but this was something else. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand.

The scene was a complete blood bath. Five members of the Latin Kings gang lay dead on the floor. On a pallet there was drugs, ammunition, and weapons. The bodies were badly damaged. The face on one victim completely unrecognizable. 

"Jesus Christ," I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief. "This guy's not messing around."

"Do you think this is him?" Peterson asked. 

"It certainly fits the profile," I replied, studying the bodies. "And he's definitely escalating. First one on one, now a small group. I can only imagine what he has planned next."

"How did he takedown five heavily armed men? I don't see bullet holes in these bodies." Monroe questioned. 

I knelt down, examining the bodies more closely. "You're right," I said, standing up to look around the scene. "No bullet wounds. So how the hell did he manage to take them all out without a fight?"

"Maybe he took them out one by one then moved the bodies." Peterson proposed. 

"It's possible," I said, nodding. "But that would take some serious stealth and precision. Plus, it doesn't explain the fact that the bodies are completely mutilated."

"Perhaps he's not working alone." Monroe suggested. 

"That's possible too," I agreed. "But it still doesn't explain how they managed to take out five grown men without a struggle."

As we continued to investigate the scene, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were dealing with a very dangerous and unpredictable killer. Whoever this guy was, he had a taste for blood and he was getting bolder by the day.

Hours later, the sun was beginning to set as we finally left the crime scene, our exhaustion and frustration mounting. We had gathered a lot of information, but it still felt like we were no closer to catching the killer.

As we walked back to the car, I turned to Peterson and Monroe. "Alright, we need to head back to the station. We have a lot of new evidence to go through, and we need to start working on some sort of profile for this guy."

"I know it's been a long day," Monroe yawned. "But we can't stop now. This killer is out there and he's not going to stop anytime soon."

"I know," I said, my voice weary. "But we need to be sharp if we're going to catch this guy. We can't afford any mistakes."

We all climbed into the car and drove back to the precinct in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. We were all tired, but the adrenaline of the case kept us going.

When we arrived at the precinct, we immediately went to work. We started by organizing the evidence we had collected, trying to look for any patterns or connections we might have missed.

The news had reported on the killings. Giving the gruesome details, and dubbing the kill, The Savage. Telling the public to call the police station if they have any information or details about the murders. 

I glanced up at the TV as the news report started airing. I tensed up as they gave a detailed account of our murders. I knew that this kind of publicity could either help or hinder our investigation.

"Great. The press is getting involved now." I groaned, running a hand through my hair. "Just what we need."

They were calling him Savage based on the tenacity and ferocity in which he killed his victims with. The public seemed divided on the street. Some liked knowing that this guy was taking out the bad guys, but others were afraid, or didn't like justice being served in such a way. 

The name seemed to fit. He was nothing if not Savage. His brutality was on display with every kill. He killed them by beating them to death. Sending a primal fear through them. As they beg him to just kill them. They wish for death. 

I let out a sigh as I watched the report. I couldn't deny the accuracy in the killer's description, but I also knew that encouraging this type of justice could spiral out of control.

"We need to make sure this doesn't lead to some kind of vigilante justice," I said, shifting in my chair. "The last thing we need is for some crazy to decide they want to take the law into their own hands."

"Make sure it doesn't? Hell, how can you deny that we are dealing with one right now?" Monroe asked. 

"That happens to be the public opinion. We cannot change opinions. We will see what they think when we drag him in here." Peterson added. 

I nodded in agreement. "You're right. We'll worry about public opinion when we have him in custody. But right now we need to focus on finding him. We need to get ahead of this before things get any worse."

The call came in at 9:47. There was a possibly an eye witness of The Savage brutally beating a man in the middle of the streets. The police were all over the area. 

I perked up as the call came in, adrenaline coursing through my veins. "Alright, let's go. This could be our chance to catch this guy in the act."

We rushed out of the precinct to the scene, sirens blaring. It was chaos as we arrived on the scene. Police were everywhere, trying to contain the situation. We pushed through the crowd, trying to get a glimpse of the scene.

One dead black male of about 35 years old on the ground. Two black females, a mother and her daughter. The black male had tried to make a move on the pair. At some point an altercation breaks out. Where a white male dressed in all black intervened. 

"He threw some punches and kicks, before he pulled a large hunting knife and killed him. I tried to tell him the guy had already pulled a gun on my daughter and me, but he proceeds to take him out regardless. I think we just saw The Savage." The woman said. 

I took in the scene, trying to process everything. The description the woman gave could very well be our man. I turned to the police officer who was taking the woman's statement. "Did you get a good look at the suspect?"

"No," the officer replied, "The woman is the only eye witness. We've looked around for him, but no one seems to have seen which way he went."

I let out a frustrated sigh. "Great. So he's probably long gone by now." I turned to the woman. "Did he say anything to you? Anything at all?"

"Not really," the woman replied. "He just asked if he was a good guy. I said he was. He asked for the gun. Took it, and then I told him a bit about the guy. Then he just jumped in and attacked him. He looked calm while doing it. No real rage. I think he's done this before."

I glanced over at Peterson and Monroe, who looked just as frustrated as I felt. We had such a small window of opportunity to catch this guy, and he had slipped through our fingers. Again.

"Alright, thank you for your cooperation," I said to the woman before turning to Peterson and Monroe. "Let's get back to the precinct. We need to canvas the area and see if we can find any security cameras."

There were several cameras that caught a glimpse of him, but he moved with a cover on his face. The cover is for a motorcycle or dirt bike, but he was likely just using it to hide his identity. Nobody saw him exit in a vehicle. 

I reviewed the security tapes intently, my frustration mounting with each replay. "This guy is a pro," I muttered, running a hand over my face. "He knows exactly what he's doing. He's making sure he covers his tracks every time."

"He's clearly well-trained," Peterson chimed in. "He moves with purpose and precision. He knows what he's doing, and he does it well."

"Well trained is an understatement," I said, rolling my eyes. "This guy's a professional. And that cover was a smart move. Makes it nearly impossible to get a clear look at his face."

"Do you think he might be military or something?" Monroe asked, taking a seat beside me. "He could be a trained soldier or something."

"It's possible," I admitted. "He's certainly got the skills and tactics of a soldier. But I doubt he's currently active. He just seems too...unhinged for that."

"True, he's not exactly stable," Peterson said, crossing his arms. "He's definitely off his rocker. But he's also very disciplined. You don't just pick up those skills overnight."

"No, you don't," I agreed. "And that's what makes him so dangerous. He's got the training and discipline of a soldier, but the mindset of a psychotic killer. It's a lethal combination."

"So we're dealing with a former soldier who's gone completely off the rails?" Monroe asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's not exactly reassuring."

"No, it's not," I said grimly. "But it could give us a clue to his identify. I'll start looking into former soldiers with a history of mental illness or disciplinary issues."

"And I'll check with the Veterans Administration to see if anyone with a similar description has been dishonorably discharged." Peterson added.

"Good," I said, nodding. "Monroe, you focus on looking into any recent purchases of motorbikes or dirt bikes. This guy clearly uses one to escape the scene."

The efforts would lead them to several suspects, but none of them were the perpetrator. The Savege eluded them. Each lead took them to another dead end. 

The investigation was becoming more and more frustrating. We had dozens of leads, but none of them were panning out.

"This is maddening," I vented to Peterson and Monroe, my frustration mounting with every dead end. "We're running around in circles. We can't catch a break."

"I know, boss," Monroe sighed. "I'm starting to think we'll never find this guy."

But I refused to give up. I knew we had to keep pushing forward, no matter how infuriating it was.

"We will find him," I said firmly. "We just have to keep digging. Every lead is a step closer, even if it doesn't seem like it. We just need to keep following the trail and trust that we'll get there eventually."

The following morning they were called out to a homeless camp. Where two men who had failed to register as a sex offender were found dead. Law enforcement had been searching for them for over a month. The two men had their throats slashed and face smashed into the ground. Nobody in the camp heard a thing as two men died just feet away. 

By the time we arrived at the scene, the crime scene technicians were already there. The camp was a depressing sight, even more so now that we had another two bodies on our hands.

One of the technicians approached us, holding up a small notebook. "We found these in one of the victims' pockets," he said. "Their names are John Sanders and David Brown. They were both registered sex offenders, and had been missing for a month or so. "

I nodded, making a note of the names. "Thanks."

I turned back to Peterson and Monroe. "Looks like our guy wasn't done yet. And he's certainly got a thing for justice, if these victims are anything to go by."

"Yeah, it's like he's trying to clean up the streets himself," Peterson mused, running a hand over his stubble. "Except he's not exactly doing it the legal way."

"He's definitely not," I said, a frown tugging at the corners of my mouth. "But we can't deny that he's taking out some of the worst kinds of people."

"Yeah, but what if he decides to widen his scope?" Monroe wondered aloud. "What if he starts targeting people who aren't as bad?"

"That's a real concern," I agreed, my mind already racing with the potential implications. "But for now, we just have to focus on catching him. We can worry about his target list later."

Detective Monroe then mentioned that we should create a sting operation to set him up. "He'll likely try to attack if he thought he was meeting with a pedophile." 

I considered the idea for a moment. "It's risky," I said. "But it's worth a shot. We could set up a meeting, pretend we're a potential victim. But we'd need to make sure we have enough backup to take him down if he takes the bait."

"I wish there was another way, but I don't honestly see one. We will have to pull him out of hiding." Detective Monroe added. 

I nodded in agreement. "I don't like it, but you're right. We're not getting anywhere with the leads we have. And if he's targeting more dangerous people, we can't afford to wait and see what he'll do next."

"Alright," I said, turning to Peterson and Monroe. "let's start planning the op. We'll need a decoy, a meeting place, and plenty of backup. And we'll have to be careful, we don't know how he'll react if he finds out something's not what it seems."

"You're going to call the Sargent for permission?"

I grimaced at the thought. "Yeah, I'll take care of it. But I don't think he's going to be too happy about it."

"No...no he's not. He's got to see the reasoning behind it. I mean, we can't wait on this guy to slip. He's been too good at this point to let it continue." Monroe emphasized. 

"Exactly," I said, running a hand through my hair. I could already picture the sergeant's reaction, and it wasn't going to be pretty. "We need to act now. And we need to do it properly. "

I took a deep breath and made the call to the sergeant. As expected, he wasn't thrilled with the idea. He argued that it was too risky, that we didn't have enough evidence to justify the op. But I stood my ground, listing all the reasons why we needed to act.

After several minutes of back-and-forth, the sergeant finally relented, albeit reluctantly. "Fine," he said, his tone grudging. "But you'd better be damn sure this guy is our guy. And I want full backup. No screwups. Got it?"

"Got it," I said, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. "We'll make sure everything goes smoothly. And we'll catch this guy, one way or another."

"So who are we going to use? You know as the sitting duck? I mean he's killed them all up close and personal. That doesn't mean he won't long scope the next one." Peterson added. 

"That's a good question," I said, crossing my arms. "We need someone who can convince him they're a potential target. But we also need someone who can handle themselves if things get dicey."

"At this point I wouldn't be comfortable with three people. We've gotta be on it fast." 

"Right," I said, nodding in agreement. "We don't want to risk too many people, otherwise it'll be harder to control the scene. But at the same time, we can't leave our decoy with minimal backup."

" We're talking about a guy that took down five heavily armed men with a knife." 

"Exactly," I sighed, running a hand over my face. "This guy is no joke. We need someone who can handle themselves, and a lot of backup. And we need to make sure our decoy is up to the task. If they crack even a little bit, it could ruin the whole operation."

"Hell, they're terrified of this guy. I mean with good reason, but somebody got to do it." 

"Yeah, that's true," I said, a sense of weight settling in my gut. "But this is a dangerous plan. We're willingly putting someone in harm's way. We need to make sure they understand the risks."

" We need somebody over there in the Swat unit." Monroe suggested. 

"Yeah, that could work," I nodded. "They're trained to handle high-pressure situations, and they'll have the firepower to back up our decoy. Good thinking, Monroe."

As we continued to put the plan together a man was killed behind the grocery store in The Oaks. After trying to snatch a little girl on her bicycle, another man came out of nowhere and proceeded to bake the hell out of the man. Knifing him and the gut three times. A bystander would stay with the girl until authorities arrived. 

I made another call, this time to the Swat unit. The commander agreed to lend us one of their best officers for the operation. He was confident that his man could handle himself in a dangerous situation.

"Okay, we've got our decoy," I said, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. "Now we just need to find the perfect meeting place."

We spent the next hour reviewing potential locations. We wanted somewhere public enough that it would be easy for the perp to find, but private enough that we could keep a low profile. We finally settled on a small park on the outskirts of town. It was dimly lit, and away from any houses.

"This should work," I said, studying the location. "It's secluded enough that we can keep an eye on our decoy without being seen, but open enough that the perp won't hesitate to approach."

The crew set up the location with plenty of guns and cameras. Several men were inside the house with the decoy. "If he fights back, kill him. Because if not he'll kill you." 

The Swat officer we had enlisted to play the decoy nodded, his expression steady. "Understood," he said, his hand resting on his sidearm.

"Remember, we've got you covered," I said, trying to reassure him. "But you need to be careful. This guy is no joke. If you give him any reason to suspect something, he'll strike without hesitation."

"I'll be careful," the officer assured me. "I've been in worse situations. I can handle this."

I took a deep breath, hoping he was right. "Okay then. Let's get ready. We're going live in five minutes."

We all took our positions, hidden among the bushes and shadows surrounding the park. My heart pounded in my chest as we waited for our perp to arrive. I silently prayed that everything would go smoothly.

It went smooth enough, as we never saw The Savage that night. The next morning I had an email. It's stated, "this is not amateur hour, do you think I started doing this yesterday?"

Reading the email, a mix of anger and frustration washed over me. The perp had seen through our op and was making fun of us. We were dealing with someone who wasn't going to fall for our tricks easily.

"Looks like our guy wasn't fooled by our decoy," Peterson commented, staring at the email over my shoulder. "He's one step ahead of us."

"Yeah, I can see that," I said, my frustration mounting. "He's mocking us, saying that we're amateurs at this. But we can't afford to be amateurs. We need to find a way to outsmart him."

"How?" Peterson asked, sounding as frustrated as I felt. "He's not falling for our tricks. He's too good. He's always one step ahead."

"We have to think outside the box," I said, running a hand through my hair. "We have to find a way to predict his movements, figure out what he'll do next. We can't afford to keep playing catch-up with this guy."

"But how?" Peterson repeated, his frustration evident. "He's unpredictable. He seems to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. How do we figure out his next move?"

"I don't know," I admitted, feeling a sense of helplessness creeping in. "But we have to find a way. We can't let him keep eluding us like this. We have to think like him, anticipate his moves, outsmart him at his own game."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, each of us lost in our own thoughts. There had to be a way to predict the perp's movements. There had to be a pattern to his behavior that we were missing.

"What if we're looking at this the wrong way?" Monroe suddenly piped up. We turned to look at him. "What if we're focusing too much on predicting his moves, and not enough on understanding his motivations?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, not sure where he was going with this.

Monroe shrugged. "I'm just thinking out loud here, but maybe if we understood why he's doing this, it would give us a better idea of what he might do next. Maybe he's not just a mindless killer, but someone who's driven by some kind of twisted motive."

"Maybe you're right," I said, considering Monroe's words. "We've been so focused on trying to predict his moves that we haven't really stopped to think about why he's doing this in the first place. Maybe if we can figure that out, we can figure out what he's likely to do next."

"We can obviously see that he's got it in for pedophiles and drug dealers." 

"Right," I said, mulling it over. "He seems to have some sort of code he follows. Maybe we can use that code to predict what kind of target he'll choose next."

"You think he'll keep going after drug dealers and pedophiles?" Peterson asked, sounding skeptical. "Seems like a pretty narrow pool of targets to choose from."

"I don't know," I said, feeling a sense of frustration rising up again. "But it's worth looking into. Maybe there's a pattern to the kinds of targets he's chosen so far. Maybe we can use that to predict what kind of person he might go after next."

The call came in about another body in the concrete gutter under bridge of the freeway. Another victim killed with a knife, but his face was broken and his nose shattered. 

We rushed to the scene, which was located on the outskirts of town. The body had been discovered by a homeless person who had been rummaging through the area. The homeless man was visibly shaken, and it took some gentle coaxing to get him to speak with us.

"I was just lookin' for some scraps when I saw him," the homeless man said, his voice quivering. "He was lyin' in the gutter, face all bloodied and broken. I didn't want no trouble, so I just called the police."

We thanked the homeless man for his help and turned our attention to the body. The scene was gruesome, and it was clear that the perp had once again made a statement with his handiwork.

"He definitely didn't hold back this time," Peterson said, looking pale. "Looks like he really wanted to make this guy suffer."

"Yeah," I said, forcing myself to look at the gory scene. "It looks like he put a lot of rage into this one. We need to find out who this guy was and who might want him dead."

We quickly gathered as much evidence as we could from the scene, taking photographs and collecting any potential evidence. Then we turned our attention to the body itself, trying to identify the victim.

"Looks like our perp has struck again," I said, feeling a mixture of anger and frustration. "Another gang member killed by the Savage. He's really got it out for these guys."

"And he's not messing around," Peterson added, still looking pale. "This guy was beaten to a pulp. The perp was definitely making a statement with this kill."

"Yeah, he wanted this guy to suffer," I said, feeling a sense of dread creeping up on me. "We need to find out who this guy was and who might have wanted him dead. Maybe someone is trying to send a message to the local gangs."

"Or maybe the perp is just a loose cannon," Peterson suggested. "He seems to be operating on his own, making his own rules. Maybe he just targets whoever he sees as scum."

"Yeah, that's possible," I said, although I had a feeling that there was more to it than that. "But we can't afford to make assumptions. We need to look at this from every angle and consider all possibilities."

We spent the next few hours gathering more information about the victim, questioning the gang members he was associated with and searching for potential enemies or motives. The gang members were unsurprisingly uncooperative, but we managed to gather enough information to start forming some theories.

"It looks like the victim had some rivals within his own gang," I said, poring over some files. "There was some tension between him and one of the other leaders, a guy named DeAngelo."

"Do you think DeAngelo could have put a hit out on this guy?" Peterson asked, looking at the file over my shoulder.

"It's possible," I said, rubbing my chin. "He had a reputation for being ruthless and power-hungry. It wouldn't surprise me if he wanted to get rid of some competition."

"But we don't have any evidence yet," Peterson said, sounding frustrated. "All we have is speculation. We need something concrete, something that will give us a solid lead."

"I know," I said, feeling the same frustration. "We're just going to have to keep pushing. We need to find something, anything, that will help us crack this case."

We spent the rest of the day and well into the night following up leads and trying to piece together the puzzle. But as the hours ticked by, we found ourselves no closer to identifying the perp or determining his next target. It was starting to feel like we were just spinning our wheels.

"We're not getting anywhere," I said, sighing heavily as I leaned back in my chair. "We've been at this all day, and we're no closer to catching this guy. What are we missing?"

"I don't know," Peterson said, scrubbing his face with his hands. "It's like he's always one step ahead of us. We can't predict his moves, and we can't catch him in the act. It's like he's a ghost, always just out of reach."

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of failure settling heavily on my shoulders. "I know. It's like we're playing a game of chess, but he's the one making all the moves. We need to find a way to get ahead of him, to anticipate his next move before he makes it."

"But how?" Peterson asked, looking hopelessly at the stacks of files and evidence surrounding us. "We've tried everything we can think of. We've interviewed witnesses, tracked down leads, and exhausted every possible angle."

"Maybe we need to think outside the box," Peterson suggested. "Re-examine the evidence we do have. There might be something there that we've overlooked."

"Yeah, you're right," I said, forcing myself to push away the frustration and exhaustion. "We need to be open to all possibilities, no matter how crazy they seem. We need to think like him, see things from his perspective. We need to get into his head."

We spent the rest of the night pouring over evidence and reanalyzing every clue and lead we had gathered. We talked through possibilities and theories, no matter how outlandish they seemed. But as the night wore on, we still had no concrete answers.

Tracking Down a Savage 

We had a profiler from the FBI come give us a projection of the criminal, and several different sketches of what he may look like based off eye witness description.

 We all gathered around the table as the profiler laid out the information he had gathered. "So, based on the evidence we have and the patterns we've seen so far," the profiler said, "we believe we're dealing with a white male in his thirties or forties. He's likely to be of average height and build, but with a strong, wiry physique. He probably has a background in military or law enforcement, given his ability to stay hidden and his knowledge of weapons and tactics."

"What about his mental state?" I asked, trying to get a sense of who our perp really was. "Is he a psychopath, a sociopath, or just someone with a warped sense of justice and a lot of anger?"

"He appears to have a certain amount of resentment towards pedophiles, drug dealers, and those potentially harming the children. We're definitely dealing with a vigilante. Not a hit man, although if a hit was out on one of his type of victims he'd take it, I mean there's no money in what he's doing." 

I frowned, mulling over the profiler's words. "So he's more of a vigilante than anything else. He's not doing this for money, he's doing this because he feels some sort of twisted sense of justice."

"It appears that way. In his past he's been hurt or affected by drug dealers, pedophiles, or something like that. His past was shaped somehow from the type of people he's seeking obvious revenge from. There's an obvious grudge." 

I nodded, starting to get a sense of who this guy really was. "So he's targeting people who remind him of the people who wronged him. He's taking out his anger and frustration on people who fit a certain mold, people he deems worthy of his wrath."

"Indeed...it certainly seems like that in my professional opinion." 

"What about his MO?" Peterson asked, turning to the profiler. "Do you think he'll stick to a certain pattern or keep things random?"

"I think you can expect him to keep targeting the same types of victims you've been seeing. But...this man is a trained killer. It seems military like to me. He's doing things like killing five men with a knife. They don't teach that at the academy." 

I felt a chill run down my spine as the profiler's words sunk in. "So we're dealing with a trained killer, a man with the skills and cold-bloodedness of a trained military professional. He's not just some amateur with a grudge, he's a dangerous, deadly man."

Peterson was looking pale as well, his voice laced with a hint of fear. "And we have no idea what his next target is going to be. We have no way of predicting who he might go after next."

"Well you can bet a pedophile, a gang member, or someone abusing a law abiding citizen. Based off his pattern so far." 

I nodded grimly, feeling a sense of dread settle in my stomach. "So it's just a matter of time until he strikes again. We need to be vigilant, keep our eyes open for any potential targets that match his pattern."

"We also need to think about how to defend ourselves against him," Peterson added, looking worried. "This guy is a trained killer, and he's going to be well prepared. We need to make sure we have the necessary resources and equipment to take him down."

I nodded, already starting to make mental notes of the things we would need. "We need to get body armor, make sure we have sufficient weapons and ammunition, and maybe even bring in some extra backup. This guy is not going to go down easy."

"And we need to stay hypervigilant," Peterson added, looking just as serious as I felt. "We can't let our guard down for a second. If this guy gets the jump on us..." he trailed off, not wanting to say the rest out loud.

Everyone in the room was quiet for a moment, all of us visualizing the consequences of what could happen if we weren't prepared. Then I spoke up. "We also need to make sure we have a plan in place in case things go south. We need to have contingencies, options for how to handle different scenarios."

"Yeah just in case something unforseen happens." Monroe agrees. 

I nodded, glad that everyone was willing to take this seriously. "Exactly. We need to be prepared for anything. This guy is smart, and he's unpredictable. We need to make sure we have every angle covered."

Three more bodies were reported that following morning. While we were trying to figure out how, why and who, was behind these murders, he was killing another three more. He killed a child rapist and two gang members pushing drugs. 

The news of the new murders felt like a blow to the gut. We had been working nonstop to try to prevent these deaths, but we had clearly been too slow. Now three more lives had been snuffed out, and the killer was still out there, undetected.

"This guy is relentless," Peterson said, the frustration in his voice evident. "We're not even close to catching him, and he's just out there killing more people. We're losing this war."

I felt a sense of helplessness wash over me, but I pushed it down and tried to keep a level head. "We can't afford to give up now. We have to keep pushing, keep searching for clues, keep trying to get one step ahead of him."

"But how?" Peterson asked, throwing his hands up. "We've tried everything we can think of. We've talked to witnesses, tracked down leads, and interviewed suspects. And yet we're still no closer to finding him."

I paused for a moment, thinking hard. "We need to re-examine the evidence we already have. Maybe there's something we've missed, some clue left behind in the other cases that we just haven't seen yet."

In the office I'd received another email from 'The Savage'. 

Detective Reed, 

I've come to say goodbye. Not that you and the city of Houston don't need me. Because you definitely do without a doubt. You've now called in the FBI. You know? I can tell when i'm not wanted. I suppose you could probably tell that to if you were in my position. I've taken some real horrible criminals off the streets. Not your average thief or your Hooker. Not the treasure it was over there cooking the books. That's right your boy's down there skimming. He's probably quietly stolen a hundred thousand dollars, maybe more. I wasn't even out there after the guy who's selling a little marijuana. I took down pedophiles, cocaine pushers, and gang members trying to bring weapons into Houston. I do have a deep seeded hate for those types. Fucking up society and the kids lives. Until next time, I'm getting out of here. Maybe, Dallas, Memphis, or Chicago. Hell...who knows. Take care of yourself Mr. Reed. The pleasure has been mine. 

I stared at the email in disbelief. The "Savage" was saying goodbye? He was leaving the city? I felt a mixture of relief and frustration. On one hand, I was glad to hear that he wouldn't be killing anyone else. But on the other hand, I resented the fact that this killer thought he was doing us a favor. As if we needed his twisted brand of justice to clean up the streets.

"Hell no." Peterson said. "We deserve the shot to nail this son of a bitch to the wall." 

"I agree with Peterson," I said, my jaw clenching tightly. "We need to catch this guy before he packs up and moves on to his next target. We can't let him get away with thinking he's doing us a favor. He deserves to face the justice system, not disappear into the night like a ghost."

"We need to block off all major outlets." Detective Monroe suggested. 

"I was thinking the same thing," I said, nodding in agreement. "We'll need to set up roadblocks on all major highways and interstates leading out of the city. We can't take a chance on him slipping through our fingers."

"What about public transportation?" Peterson asked. "Trains, buses, subways. He could easily take one of those and slip through our lines."

I grimaced, realizing he had a point. "That's a good point. We'll need to station officers at all the bus stations, train depots, and airports. We have to make sure every possible exit is covered."

"And we'll need to alert the surrounding cities and states," Monroe added. "Let them know what we're dealing with so they can be on the lookout for him as well."

"Good idea," I said, glad to have the support and input of my colleagues. "We don't know where he's going to go next, so we need to make sure we have as much coverage as we can. The more eyes we have out there looking for him, the better our chances of catching him."

As the three of us continued to formulate our plan, a sense of determination settled over me. This could be our chance to finally end the Savage's reign of terror. We couldn't afford to let him slip through our fingers again.

We spent the next few hours making calls and organizing our efforts. We coordinated with the FBI and surrounding cities to set up roadblocks, put out bulletins, and spread the word about the Savage. We mobilized all available resources to ensure that we had every possible angle covered.

As the night wore on, the excitement and anticipation was almost palpable. We were so close to finally catching this maniac, and we all knew it. We were determined to make sure he didn't evade justice again.

The hours ticked by as we waited and watched. We monitored the roadblocks, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Savage trying to sneak through. But as the night wore on, we were still empty-handed. The Savage was either hunkered down somewhere, or he had already slipped out of the city undetected.

It was the latter of the two. While all single, white males, 35-45 were being checked. With a female partner he slipped out of town and not alone. The Savage was gone, but something told me that we'd see him again. 

I watched as the last car pulled away from the roadblock, disappointment washing over me. The Savage had slipped through our fingers again. But something about it felt different this time around. I had a feeling that this wasn't the end of the story.

I couldn't shake the feeling that we hadn't seen the last of the Savage. His words echoed in my mind as I watched the taillights disappear into the night. "Until next time."