HGlock SM - Agent Bug.pdf (2025)

The sun had barely risen when Lake Holtz stepped out of the precinct that crisp morning, his breath visible in the chill autumn air. He pulled his coat tighter around his broad frame as he surveyed the scene before him - crime scene tape strung between lampposts, uniformed officers milling about, a small crowd of onlookers peering over the barriers to catch a glimpse of the latest victim.

Another body had been found, and Lake knew they were running out of time. The serial killer had already claimed five lives in the past three months, and the mayor was getting anxious for results. Lake took a drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke burn his lungs as he approached the lead investigator.

"Morning, Detective Holtz," said Agent Novak, her eyes red from lack of sleep. "Fresh victim, but still no leads on the perp. Looks like he's escalating."

Lake nodded grimly. They both knew the drill - the more bodies that piled up, the harder it became to catch the killer before he struck again. And the longer this dragged on, the more pressure they'd get from above to produce a culprit, any culprit. Lake wasn't about to let the killer off scot-free because of some eager-beaver DA.

"Uniforms still canvassing for witnesses?" he asked.

"On it. Nothing yet, but still working the angles. Forensics is on scene, CSU too. Maybe we'll get lucky and find something this time."

Lake doubted it. This guy was good, leaving behind not a shred of evidence, not a single scrap of DNA, no fibers, no trace at all. He was a ghost.

Just then, Agent Rodriguez came jogging over, holding up a phone. "Detective Holtz, I think I found something. Check this out." He turned the screen to reveal a new email in the department inbox.

Ladies & Gentlemen,

Ready to play again, officers? I know you're dying for a lead, so I've decided to give you a little...help. You're welcome!

-THE SCORPION

There was a link underneath, an address and a date. Lake felt a chill run through him, one that had nothing to do with the dawn chill still clinging to the city streets. The Scorpion... He hadn't gone by that name in years. Not since the trial that sent Lake to the hospital for months. Not since he...

No. Surely not. It had to be a copycat. The Scorpion was still locked up, starts on him like a damn Christmas tree. Besides, he was old now, out of the game. Couldn't be him.

Could it?

Lake pressed his thumb into the bruise on his temple, the old bullet wound that still ached on rainy days and during his worst migraines. The Scorpion's parting gift.

"Well, shit," he muttered. "Looks like we got our first lead. Let's get to work people, and pray to God this isn't what it looks like."

Over the next tense days, they pulled every shred of intel, every scrap of evidence, every rumor and whisper. The email was clean, traceless, but the address...the address matched the Scorpion's M.O. to a letter.

Lake knew, in his gut, his bones, that this was the son of a bitch who'd taken so much from him and given nothing but scars in return. The man who'd killed his wife. The man who'd taken his eye.

This time, Lake would be ready. This time, he'd finish what he started, put the bastard in the ground where he belonged. No more cat and mouse, no more playing by the rules.

He needed a plan, and he needed bait. And he had the perfect idea.

That night, Lake stood outside The Squall, an underground fight club the department had been trying to shut down for years. Scum of all kinds drifted in and out of the rusted warehouse, but Lake was looking for one man - Trieve "The Bull" Robinson, the meanest son of a bitch in the city.

Lake slipped inside, scanning the crowd of bloodthirsty gamblers and lowlifes. He spotted Robinson in the back, and his stomach clenched as he approached.

"You wanted to see me, detective?" Robinson asked, his voice like gravel. The morel on his cheek twitched. "Make it quick. I don't have all night."

"Mr. Robinson," Lake said smoothly. "I'm going to make you a deal, and you're going to like it."

Robinson raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening..."

They talked for an hour, hammering out a plan that would make Lake's captain faint dead away if he knew. But desperate times and all that. By the time Lake walked out, arms sore from the pummeling he'd just endured at Robinson's hands, it was a go.

The trap was set.

Three days later, a new email. He's willing to play, detective. Let the game begin.

Lake actually laughed when he read that. The Scorpion wanted to play? Oh, they'd play alright. Lake would make it the last game the bastard would ever play.

They lured him out with the bait, the switch, the con. Robinson, playing Lake's double, wearing his face to the cameras, drawing the bastard out to their trap. And then, there he was, striding into the abandoned lot like he owned it.

The Scorpion.

Lake came out of the shadows, gun trained on the man who'd haunted his nightmares for so long. "Well, well," The Scorpion said, grinning. "If it isn't my old friend. Miss me, detective?"

Lake charged, rage burning up his spine. He'd waited so long for this moment, and now, here it was. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Bang.