Lust System: Conquering the World Beauties-Chapter 407 Classified Area

Morning finally pushed the night away, but it did not feel like a normal morning. The city woke up to the sound of sirens again. Loud, sharp, constant. They cut through the quiet streets like blades. People pressed their faces to their windows, but nobody dared step outside. Nobody wanted to see what was waiting out there. The fear from the previous night still clung to them like cold sweat. They had already seen bodies in alleys yesterday. Nobody wanted a repeat of that.

The police cars drove fast, almost dangerously fast, and their lights reflected off the empty roads and the buildings that felt too silent. Curtains shifted as citizens watched from behind safety, hoping whatever nightmare was out there would not reach their homes again.

Markov’s car arrived a few minutes later. The moment it stopped, he stepped out quickly. His coat swung with the movement as he rushed forward. He did not even wait for the officers nearby to speak. He saw the tape, the cluster of uniforms, and the stillness of the bodies around the scene. Something inside him already felt wrong. His gut twisted before he even reached the center.

A few steps more and he froze. His knees dropped to the ground like they could no longer hold his weight.

Leonid lay there.

His body was twisted in a way no human body should ever be twisted. His neck was bent in an impossible angle, an angle that made Markov’s stomach curl and his breath escape in a painful gasp. Leonid’s eyes were half open.

Markov covered his mouth with his hand. His whole chest felt tight. His eyes burned, but he fought the tears back. He pushed them down because he knew if he let even one of them fall, he would break completely.

Leonid was not just one of his men. He was not just another forensic worker. Leonid was his downline, the person he trained, the person he trusted, the man he often called son without even realizing it. He was talented, disciplined, sharp, always eager to prove himself. Markov had big plans for him. He believed the boy would rise high in their field.

And now Leonid was lying in front of him like this.

Markov swallowed hard. His voice came out shaking, thick with grief and anger when he finally looked back at the officers standing nearby.

"Do we know who fucking did this?" he asked. The words came out louder than he intended, but nobody dared react.

The officers looked at each other before answering. One shook his head. The other followed. They looked guilty, helpless, like they wished they had an answer to give him.

"No, sir," one finally said. "We have no idea. Whatever happened here is beyond anything we have seen." His voice lowered before he added, "But it seems Leonid was wearing a camera when the event happened."

Markov’s head lifted slowly. "A camera?"

"Yes, sir. He had it on him. It got damaged in whatever happened here, but the tech team is sure they can recover the footage. They said the hardware is broken, but the memory card looks intact." The officer spoke carefully, like he did not want to push Markov too much.

Markov nodded slowly. His throat felt dry. He closed his eyes for a moment and forced himself to breathe. There was anger inside him, burning hot. There was guilt too. A lot of it. He had told Leonid he would be fine. He had told him to take breaks, to rest, to keep himself safe. He had promised to look out for him.

And yet Leonid had died alone in the dark.

He stood up finally. His legs felt heavy, but he forced himself to stay steady. He looked toward the rest of the forensic team, who were waiting silently. They were pale. Some had red eyes. Some had their hands clenched tightly, trying to hold themselves together. Leonid had been one of them. He had stood right beside them yesterday, speaking, laughing, working.

"Cover his body," Markov said quietly.

The forensic workers nodded. They moved slowly, respectfully, lifting the white sheet. None of them spoke. None of them needed to. The silence said everything.

Markov watched as they covered Leonid’s twisted form. For a moment he turned away, pressing his fingers against his forehead. He felt older suddenly. He felt tired in a way he had never felt before.

Just as he started to walk away, one of the police officers approached him. The man’s expression was uneasy, like he wished he did not have to say what he was about to say.

"Sir," he said, his voice low. "I’m afraid there is something else you have to see."

Markov followed the police officer without asking questions. His mind was still stuck on the image of Leonid lying on the ground with his neck twisted in that awful way. Every step felt heavy. Every breath felt harder than the last. The officer guiding him pushed through the gathered policemen, and as they walked deeper into the scene Markov caught the smell. It was sharp, iron-like, thick enough to coat his throat. Blood. A lot of it. Far more than what he saw around Leonid.

He knew that smell too well. But this... this was different. There was too much of it. It told him whatever happened here was not human. Not normal. Not a fight. Not an accident. It was carnage.

When he finally stepped through the last line of officers, the full scene opened before him. His breath caught in his chest. His eyes widened. His hand rose instinctively to cover his mouth.

There was blood everywhere. It wasn’t splattered. It wasn’t pooled. It was painted across the ground, across the walls, across discarded trash bins and broken crates. Every direction he looked he saw red.

Then he saw the bodies.

Or what was left of them.

Four severed heads lay scattered across the ground like someone had simply tossed them aside. Their eyes were open, mouths frozen mid scream or mid gasp. Their faces were locked in terror.

Three headless bodies lay further away, thrown in unnatural positions, as if they had been ripped apart and discarded. The wounds were not clean cuts. They were torn, ragged, shredded like something had used claws, not blades.

Markov felt his stomach twist. "Good lord," he muttered behind his hand.

Before he could step closer, two men moved quickly in front of him.

"Sir, please step back," one said. "This is a classified area."

Markov slowly lowered his hand from his mouth. He stared at the men, confused and disgusted. "Classified? This is my scene. I am deputy forensic. What do you mean classified?"

He had seen terrible murder scenes. He had been the first at dozens of horrors. But never in his entire career had someone stopped him from inspecting a body.

Before he could take another step forward, the police officer who brought him here grabbed his arm, pulling him back firmly. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

"Sir," he said in a low, urgent voice, "I’m afraid you really can’t get closer. They won’t let anyone through. Not even the captain."

Markov frowned hard. His gaze moved beyond the blood, beyond the bodies, to the people standing at the center of the chaos.

Five figures in thick disinfectant suits were moving around the area like they owned it. Their suits were heavy, reinforced, and completely sealed. They carried strange equipment, none of which belonged to the police or forensic department. Nothing Markov recognized.

Near them stood three men in crisp black suits, all of them tall, broad, and armed. Their guns were military grade, not police standard. Their eyes were sharp and cold, watching every movement around them. They radiated authority, the silent kind that told you not to even attempt to question them.

Markov leaned closer to the officer beside him. "Do you know who they are?"

The policeman shook his head slightly. "Special agents. That is what they called themselves. They answer directly to the government. Or someone above the government. They refused to give names, IDs, anything. They came here before we even arrived. And they won’t let anyone see the bodies properly."

Markov’s jaw tightened as the officer continued.

"They didn’t even bother with Leonid’s body, sir. They ignored it completely. They only care about those bodies right there. And whatever they carried away before we reached this point."

The words stung. They ignored Leonid like he was nothing. Like he was just another casualty in a mess they already expected.

Markov ran a hand through his beard slowly. The frustration and anger inside him deepened. Something was happening in this city, something the government or someone above them was trying very hard to hide. And people like Leonid were getting caught in the middle.

He didn’t like that. He didn’t like secrets. Especially not secrets kept from him. Especially not when his men died because of them.

He turned sharply and walked with the policeman back through the crowd of uniforms. Many officers stared at him as he passed. Some looked confused. Some scared. Some frustrated. Nobody knew what was happening. Everyone felt the pressure building in the air.

When they finally stepped out on the other side of the packed scene, Markov stopped and faced the officer directly. His eyes were sharp now. Focused. Determined. Behind the grief and exhaustion, there was something hard forming inside him.

"Listen closely," Markov said. "Tell the tech team to keep quiet about the camera and the memory card. Not a word to anyone outside our department. Nobody. Not even the captain."

The officer’s eyes widened slightly. "Yes, sir."

"Whatever these men are hiding," Markov said, lowering his voice, "I want to know. I want everything. Every damn detail."

The policeman nodded quickly and rushed off to relay the order.

Normally, the forensic department did not give commands to police. But Markov was not just any forensic worker. He was their deputy. A detective. A specialist in crime scenes. One of the finest minds in the city.