The Discovery
It was the early morning of Zephiron 12, 6:12 a.m, when the house staff of Cal Mansion found the body. A maid, while cleaning the hallway leading to the indoor pool, stumbled upon a gruesome sight—one of Cal Faros’ many girlfriends, lifeless, sprawled on the expensive marble flooring. Her neck bore deep ligature marks, indicating strangulation, and her body was unnaturally positioned as if staged. The panic in the mansion spread fast. By the time Cal was alerted, the D.E.C. had already been called.
Cal, groggy from sleep, walked downstairs shirtless, rubbing his temples. The moment he laid eyes on the corpse, his face hardened. He had been with another woman last night, nowhere near the crime scene.
Yet, the D.E.C. officers who arrived shortly afterward weren’t interested in his alibi just yet.
“Cal Faros, you are under suspicion for murder. “
Commander Gravich, the lead investigator, stepped forward. He was known for his brutal efficiency and had a reputation for cracking high-profile cases quickly—sometimes at the expense of fairness. He glanced at Cal with a cold, assessing look before issuing the inevitable command:
“You will come with us Cal Faros, you are now under investigation for the murder of your lover,” Gravich announced.
Albort, the butler, intervened, insisting on legal representation, but Gravich wouldn’t budge. Cal was handcuffed and escorted to the D.E.C. holding facility under the flashing lights of the media drones.
Cal barely had time to process the words before cold metal cuffs locked around his wrists. He was dragged out of his mansion, past the flashing lights of media drones. He didn’t resist—he knew better than to fight when the D.E.C. had already made up their minds.
Hours later, he sat in the holding cell of the D.E.C. headquarters, listening to the murmurs of guards who clearly believed the rumors spreading like wildfire—“Billionaire Playboy Kills Lover.”
But as expected the D.E.C, following procedures, contacted Cal’s immediate family in this case his mother, Rita Faros who acted swiftly and signed off on his assets and put up the necessary bail demanded by the D.E.C courts. By nightfall, Cal was free. His empire was damaged, his reputation in flames, but his mind was already set on one thing—finding out who had done this to him.
Faro’s Arrival at the Mansion
The next morning, Faro Faros arrived at the mansion from Ronda’s apartment, informed by Rita of what had happened last night, on his black motorcycle. He parked near the gates, where journalists still swarmed like vultures. Ignoring them, he strode inside, where Cal stood near the grand staircase, looking more furious than shaken.
“I didn’t do it,” Cal said the moment he saw Faro.
Faro smirked. “I know.”
“Then find out who did.”
Faro didn’t need to be told twice.
The body had already been taken by the D.E.C. for autopsy, which meant no physical evidence remained. The mansion had been cleaned, making it nearly impossible to reconstruct the scene. But murderers always left something behind.
Faro accessed the mansion’s security system through his smart goggle, connecting to the Thundarr Database Center. As expected, all footage from the previous night was missing.
“Someone disabled the security before the murder,” he muttered.
Cal frowned. “Clown?”
Faro exhaled. “That would be the obvious answer, wouldn’t it? But there’s no proof.”
The fact that the security had been sabotaged before the crime meant this was premeditated. Someone had planned this in advance, ensuring there would be no evidence linking them to the murder.
And that someone had access to advanced knowledge of security systems.
The Killers Celebrate
Elsewhere, in the heart of Thundarr City, Flint Faros walked into Clown Inc’s private office. He carried himself with the arrogance of a man who had completed his task without a hitch.
Behind the massive desk sat Mr. Clown, the ever-smiling mastermind, swirling a glass of Cal Cola in one hand.
“The job’s done,” Flint announced, dropping into a chair across from him. “The girl’s dead. Cal’s drowning in the mess. Everything’s playing out exactly how you wanted.”
Mr. Clown chuckled, his painted face splitting into a wide grin. “Good. And how was the experience, my friend?”
Flint stretched, a twisted smirk on his lips. “I was only supposed to supervise, let the goon take care of it. But, well…” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I couldn’t resist. Had my fun with her first.”
Mr. Clown’s grin didn’t falter. “I expected nothing less from a man of your… tastes.”
Flint laughed. “Yeah, you know me. Can’t control myself when I see a pretty girl helpless like that.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a flick of his wrist. “Now, about my payment.”
Mr. Clown clapped his hands, and a folder was slid across the desk. “As promised: Lifetime access to all the strip clubs in Thundarr City. All the girls you want every weekend—free of charge.”
Flint grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Mr. Clown tapped the desk. “And, of course, your associate—the one who actually finished the job—will receive his 200 grand.”
Flint blew out a cloud of smoke, satisfied. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
As he stood to leave, Mr. Clown called out, “One last thing, Flint.”
Flint turned.
Mr. Clown’s grin widened. “No loose ends.”
Flint chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry. There won’t be.”
With that, he walked out, disappearing into the neon-lit streets of Thundarr City.
Cal Mansion
Back at Cal Mansion, Faro Faros paced through the crime scene, his sharp eyes scanning for any overlooked details. The house had been scrubbed clean, but there was always something—something the killers hadn’t thought about. He just had to find it.
Cal, however, was far from composed. He sat on the velvet couch in the main lounge, his hands gripping a glass of ice-cold Cal Cola. His jaw was tight, his foot tapping against the marble floor in frustration. The weight of the accusations, the public humiliation, and the sheer injustice of it all were bearing down on him.
“They put me in chains, Faro,” he muttered. “Like some common criminal.”
Faro turned to look at him. “That’s what Clown wants. He wants you broken, your empire in ruins. You can’t give him that satisfaction.”
Before Cal could respond, soft yet confident footsteps echoed through the grand hall. Rita Faros entered, her usual seductive aura replaced with something far more tender—a mother’s deep concern. She wore a sleek crimson dress, her long brunette hair cascading over her shoulders, her green eyes filled with worry as they landed on her only son.
She had not stepped foot in this mansion since Falc Faros died. Though technically, it had been her home once, she had left it all behind. But today—today was different. Today, her only child needed her.
Her emerald eyes swept over the grand interior, the place where she had once lived, loved, and lost. Then, her gaze landed on Cal, and for the first time in years, the woman who had become Shecon was no warrior, no legend—just a mother.
“Oh, my poor boy,” she whispered, crossing the room in swift strides.
Cal barely had time to react before Rita knelt in front of him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. Her embrace was firm yet delicate, a stark contrast to the cold, unforgiving world that had just branded him a murderer.
“Mom…you came to my mansion…” Cal murmured, his voice softer now.
“Oh, my sweet Pumpkin…” she whispered, pulling him into her embrace.
Cal closed his eyes as his mother held him, his face buried in between her breasts. She smelled the same—warm, familiar, like a piece of a childhood he had long since left behind.
Rita pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. “You are my son. My only child. No force on this planet—no corrupt officer, no vile criminal, not even Clown himself—can keep you away from me. You need me now more than anytime else, I am here for you my son. That is why I am in the mansion that I detest so much after I had become the Shecon.”
Cal exhaled, tension leaving his shoulders, though anger still burned in his eyes. “Thank you so much mom! but they’ll never stop. Clown will keep coming, keep setting me up, keep trying to ruin everything I built.”
“They put me in chains, Mom,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “They treated me like some street thug.”
Rita’s expression hardened, her fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Then we fight back. But you must stay strong, my Pumpkin. You must outthink them.”
Faro, watching from the side, crossed his arms. “She’s right. Clown’s good, but he’s not perfect. He made a mistake somewhere, and I’ll find it.”
Rita turned her gaze to Faro, her expression unreadable. “And you, Faro? Will you stand by my son’s side through this storm?”
Rita’s gaze steady. “You will find the truth, won’t you?”
Faro met her eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. “I didn’t come all this way for nothing.”
A small, knowing smile touched Rita’s lips before she turned back to Cal. “Rest, my Pumpkin. Let Faro do what he does best. I’ll make sure the world doesn’t swallow you whole while he works. I will get you some chocolate cookie and warm milk.”
Cal nodded slightly, but his mind was still restless. He wasn’t used to being powerless, to being a target. But in his mother’s arms, for just a moment, he felt safe. For the first time that night, a flicker of calm passed through Cal’s stormy mind. He had been arrested, humiliated, framed—but his mother was here. And for now, that was enough.
Faro, however, had already turned back toward the empty crime scene, his mind racing. The pieces of the puzzle were scattered, but he knew one thing for certain—whoever had done this had gone to great lengths to cover their tracks.
And that meant they had something to hide.
And when people had something to hide, they always made mistakes. And mistakes were all he needed.
All he had to do now… was find the first mistake.
