The Code

Countdown

Okay. I just have to say, one huge inspiration for me has been the country song by Lady Antebellum "Just a Kiss"—it's about two people who don't want to fall in love but inevitably do. I'm sorry if you don't like country, but that's been a real mood-setter for me throughout this story (I'm listening it to it right now, as a matter of fact).

And thank you all for your reviews, constructive criticism and kind comments! They mean a lot : ) So here's the latest chapter. Had a lot of homework so sorry it took longer than my normal 24-hour updates. Cue the "oh no, he's hot" jokes. This one's sure to be fun.

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The attacks came out of nowhere. They were silent, untraceable, never a witness to cry out. The first victim was found in the dark alleyway on the west side of Republic City, slumped against a trash bin. He was dressed in full body Equalist garb, the symbol for equality emblazoned upon his right breast pocket. The hood and goggles had been pulled back from his face, revealing the most terrified expression. His mouth open in a soundless scream, his eyes wide and staring with unspoken horror. The rolled parchment tucked into his curled dead fingers read:

"My dear please my thirst abate.

This is only number eight."

Chief Saikhan's force had been puzzled by the note. They located the man's family, agreeing to drop any charges against them due to his Equalist affiliations. But once the murder victim had been laid to rest, the note was tucked away into evidence and forgotten.

Then the next victim came. Draped over an abandoned sato-convertible, his face fixed in that same horrific fear as the first poor soul. This time the note was tied around his neck with a scarlet string.

"In your place I've sent this poor fool to heaven,

But this is only number seven."

Upon the discovery of the second note, Saikhan and his police force had become truly disturbed. The uncovering of the man's identity shook them even further. The third man was a prominent member of the city's publishing office. A nonbender and clandestine member of the Equalist party, he had often published articles that loosely targeted the evils of bending, but never enough to get himself pinned down as an Equalist sympathizer. Saikhan put his forces on high alert, searching the streets late into the nights for the mysterious killer. He couldn't determine whether the murders had been the word of a serial or not. It was too soon. But his questions on the matter were soon laid to rest, as his fear began to rise.

"My dear you'd best make your decision quick,

I'm burning down to number six."

Soon the city newspapers swarmed with the news of Councilman Aiguo's demise, and his connection with the Equalist ranks. A waterbender, it was the puzzlement of all Republic City as to why his sympathies had been drawn to the anti-bending cause. His limp form had been found curled against the street-side wall of his office, the note stuffed into the corner of his sagging mouth. To Saikhan's surprise and dismay, there was no possible way to pinpoint the cause of death on any of the three victims. They'd all been in robust health, and not a mark was to be found on their still, cold bodies. The only link between the three had been the petrified, agonized expression of total fear on every face.

Korra slapped the newspaper down on the table, a frown marring her mocha-toned features. She took a sip from her steaming mug of tea, frowning down at the fine-print article about the police force's latest scare. What kind of person could be capable of such devastating carnage? Without leaving a trace?