Summary of Crimes: A string of missing persons cases was traced back to Beckett Graves when human remains were uncovered in multiple shallow graves across rural sites. The skeletal remains were meticulously cleaned and displayed signs of post-mortem handling and arrangement, revealing Graves’ pathological fixation on human anatomy.
Graves employed calculated precision in his methods. He would sedate his victims with strong tranquilisers to ensure total immobilisation, allowing for discreet transport to a pre-selected location. Once secured, he performed exsanguination – draining the body of blood – a process that both ensured death and facilitated the subsequent cleaning of skeletal remains.
Forensic evidence and recovered tools suggest access to medical-grade equipment and anatomical knowledge consistent with surgical or mortuary training. Investigators believe Graves conducted these acts in controlled environments – basement rooms or makeshift operating spaces modified for cleanliness and efficiency.
Following death, the subject disarticulated the bodies with clinical precision. The removal of soft tissue was executed using specialised instruments, including bone saws, scalpels, and chemical solvents to strip residual matter. The bones were then bleached, polished, and treated as artefacts of ritual significance.
The remains were ultimately interred in shallow graves arranged in deliberate geometric or symbolic formations. These placements appeared ritualistic rather than practical, suggesting an aesthetic or spiritual component to his process. The selected burial sites were isolated yet meaningful, often corresponding to areas of personal resonance for Graves.
His methods indicate a high level of organisation, emotional detachment, and obsessive-compulsive traits focused on the skeletal form. Beckett Graves exhibits the hallmarks of a methodical, clinically-minded killer driven not by rage or impulse, but by a profound and pathological reverence for human anatomy.
REAL CAGES ARE CHEMICAL
Drown Me Out - Andy Black
Bones
The alarms have been off for twelve minutes.
That’s what interests me most. Not the chaos before – the shrieking sirens, the flashing red lights that made everyone scatter like insects – but the sudden, deliberate quiet. That kind of silence doesn’t happen by accident. It’s someone’s decision.
I sit on the edge of the cot, rolling a scalpel between my fingers. My search was futile. Kayla’s gone. She’s not hiding somewhere. She’s off the island. If she’d been injured or hiding, I would have found her before anyone else. I know the inside of this place better than anyone. No matter what they like to think.
Judging by the silent alarms ringing in my head, whoever authorised its deactivation knows she’s gone too.
The blade catches the low light like a taunting smile. Around me, the room is clean to the point of mockery: white walls, one steel table, one shelf, one mirror. But the order is deceptive. I’ve hidden what matters.
A collapsible knife taped behind the vent. A small burner phone wrapped in plastic and wedged into the foam of the mattress. A drawer that rattles because the false bottom hides a strip of skin and a gold wedding band.
They don’t lock us in anymore. They don’t need to. The real cages are chemical, procedural, psychological.
When the door bursts open, I don’t flinch. I’ve been waiting.
Nightshade enters first, a thunderhead in human form. Honey’s behind him, blood on his hands. Ghost limps between them, pale and trembling.
“Beckett,” Nightshade snaps. “You still have a line to the mainland?”
I let the scalpel rest in my lap. “You make it sound like a social call.”
“DoctorandKayla are gone,” Honey says before Nightshade can answer. “The med wing was wiped clean.”
My brain pauses. Then restarts, slower. “Gone,” I repeat slowly, testing my own reaction to this new snippet of news. “As in escaped, or removed?”
Nightshade’s voice is low and precise. “Removed. Files purged. Surveillance scrubbed. The place was trashed. Helicopter’s been taken. But I think Callaway had something to do with it. Why else take her?”
He’s not exaggerating. The twitch at his jaw means he’s fighting for control, and Nightshade only fights for control when the world stops making sense. Interesting.
“You think my contacts can find her,” I say. Not a question.
“I think the Order of the Snaidhm still owes you,” he replies.
That pulls a small smile from me. “You’ve been reading the wrong reports. They don’t owe anyone. They collect.”
Not to mention, Nightshade shouldn’t evenknowthat name. What’s the point in a secret society if it’s not even a secret?
“I don’t care what they collect,” he snaps. “You’re coming with us. You make the call once we’re off this rock.”
Honey paces, shoulders tight. “They took her right out from under us. No way someone in this place didn’t help or have something to do with it.”
