The rain fell like nails.
When Fei Huangshuang pushed away the cordon, her leather shoes stepped into the stagnant water, splashing black water mixed with engine oil. The scene was behind the old gear factory in District 7. The smell of rust mixed with the smell of blood in the air made one's throat tight.
The deceased was a middle-aged man.
No, I should say it was.
Now he's nailed to the wall - literally. Seventeen brass gears meshed with precision, from shoulder blades to ankles, firmly fixing him to the rusty iron wall. The gear was still turning, making a mechanical sound of "click, click". Every time it turned, the teeth embedded in the flesh would bring out a trace of blood foam.
"Time of death?" Fei Huangshuang asked, his face expressionless.
The young police officer next to him turned pale: "Preliminary judgment... It's three to four in the morning. But boss, look at this -"
He pointed to the dead man's chest.
There was a line of words carved with a screwdriver, as neat as mechanical printing:
"The first gear begins to turn."**
