Detective Rejcz steps out of his battered sedan, the badge heavy in his coat pocket. He surveys the chaos—a woman screams as two men brawl near a boarded-up café, and a pair of police officers struggle to keep order. Rejcz’s jaw tightens as he scribbles notes, eyes darting to a spray-painted symbol on a wall: a spiral wrapped in crude profanity.
Detective Rejcz pores over files, noticing a pattern: every incident is preceded by a surge of foul language, shouted or written. He mutters, "It’s not just rage. Something’s amplifying it. But what?" A young officer approaches, trembling. Officer Lin, rookie, nervous but sharp-eyed. "Sir, witnesses say the attackers acted like they were possessed. Kept chanting curses, almost like a spell."
Detective Rejcz crouches behind a vent, camera in hand. He zooms in as their leader, Sorcha, lifts her hands and intones another stream of curses. The air vibrates with dark energy. Rejcz records everything, heart pounding. "Let the city burn with its own hatred. Tonight, we feed the fury," she snarls.
Detective Rejcz watches through a cracked window, noting every face. The mafia boss, Viktor Sokolov, grins as he shakes hands with a witch, passing a bundle of bills. "Keep the city angry. Business is booming," he says, voice low. Rejcz realizes the witches are paid to curse the city—profanity as a weapon, chaos as profit.
Detective Rejcz mutters to himself, piecing together the witches’ rituals, mafia payments, and spikes in crime. "Profanity isn’t just language—it’s a spell. The witches fuel aggression, the mafia arms it. If I break the chain, I break the city’s fever," he says, conviction hardening in his eyes.
"It’s over. I know everything. The city won’t bleed for your profit," Detective Rejcz announces. "You’re bold, detective. But words are weapons here," Sorcha sneers, beginning another chant. Rejcz counters, reciting a phrase he learned from old case files, disrupting the spell. Chaos erupts—mafia thugs scramble, witches falter, and police burst in. The city’s curse begins to lift, aggression ebbing as dawn breaks.
