Shameless AF: Dad of the Damn Multiverse

Chapter 53: Murder

Although it was ambushed and injured, the shapeshifter didn't run.

It possessed all of Eddie's memories. Born and raised in the South District, Eddie was intimately familiar with the area. Using that knowledge, the shapeshifter took advantage of the terrain to stealthily approach Dean.

Dean only noticed the smell of blood hitting him from the side. Before he could react, the shapeshifter tackled him, sending his gun flying.

"Damn it!" Dean reached for the silver dagger strapped to his thigh, but the shapeshifter pinned his arm to the ground and locked him in a joint hold.

What the shapeshifter carried wasn't just Eddie's memories. No one knew how long it had lived, how many people it had become, or how many memories it had absorbed. It might have once been a boxer, a martial artist, maybe even a war veteran.

Too many memories could drive anyone mad. Usually, the shapeshifter would forget the memories of its last form after transforming. But it retained useful ones—like combat skills, firearms training, and survival instincts.

"I… can't move!" Veins bulged on Dean's forehead as he struggled, but his body was completely restrained. He felt his arm being torn apart.

"Die!" the shapeshifter snarled, yanking the silver dagger from Dean's grip and driving it down toward Dean's head.

"HEY!" a voice suddenly shouted.

"!?" The shapeshifter instinctively looked up—and was blinded by a beam of bright white light from a flashlight. In the dark alley, the sudden flash overwhelmed its vision.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunshots rang out in rapid succession.

Dean suddenly felt the crushing pressure disappear. The shapeshifter collapsed on top of him.

"Ha... ha..." Dean pushed the creature off and gasped for breath. When he turned his head, he saw its chest soaked in blood.

"Dean, are you okay?" Frank ran over.

"I'm fine," Dean replied as he got to his feet.

Frank stared blankly at the shapeshifter's corpse, his hands trembling slightly.

Though it was a monster, Frank had just killed someone.

In his previous life, he'd lived in the city and had never even killed a chicken. Yet now… he'd taken a life.

In the heat of the moment, he hadn't felt anything. But now that it was over, cold sweat beaded on his back. His limbs went numb.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, catching his breath. He crouched down, retrieved the silver dagger from the creature's limp hand, and glanced at Frank, who looked dazed.

To Dean, this was nothing new. He'd grown up hunting demons with John. He had dozens—if not hundreds—of kills to his name. He'd personally decapitated countless vampires, dug up who knows how many graves. Death was routine for him.

"What do we do with it?" Frank asked, snapping back to reality as he looked down at the body.

Even after death, the shapeshifter retained Eddie's appearance. It didn't revert to any monstrous form. Even if a medical examiner dissected it, they'd find nothing unusual—just the corpse of Officer Eddie.

"I'll drive in a bit," Dean said.

"Who's there?!" a voice called from afar before he could finish.

A beam of light was headed their way.

"Run!" Dean and Frank's expressions changed instantly. They didn't hesitate—they bolted, leaving the body behind.

The approaching figure turned out to be Officer Tony, who had also attended Kevin and Veronica's wedding. Since he had night duty, he hadn't drunk much. When he heard gunshots, he came to investigate.

"Eddie?!" Tony shouted, flashlight in one hand and gun in the other. When he saw the body, his pupils shrank in shock.

He immediately radioed for backup and chased in the direction Dean and Frank had fled. But it was too late. They were gone.

---

Back at their car, Frank panted, "Ha… haha… Did he see us?"

"Probably not," Dean replied.

"Can he find clues from the body?" Frank asked nervously.

"No," Dean shook his head after thinking for a moment. "He won't."

"Good. You go back to the motel. I'll head home. We'll regroup and talk tomorrow," Frank said.

They split up and returned to their homes.

---

Back home, Frank was a mess. He chain-smoked cigarette after cigarette, his legs shaking uncontrollably. Every few minutes, he'd walk to the window to peer into the dark streets.

When a police siren wailed in the distance, his heart nearly stopped—afraid they were coming for him.

Hours passed. By early dawn, no one had come. Frank finally relaxed.

It seemed Officer Tony hadn't recognized them. Tony didn't know Dean, but he did know Frank. If he'd seen their faces clearly, the police would already be knocking.

---

The next day, life went on for everyone else as usual. Frank hadn't slept at all—not just because he feared getting caught, but also because he'd killed someone. He simply couldn't rest.

When his kids woke up and noisily ate breakfast, watching them helped Frank calm down a bit.

"Carl!" Frank suddenly remembered something and grabbed the boy, who was putting on his schoolbag.

"What?" Carl asked.

"Did you sneak a notebook out of that pile of bloody clothes?" Frank pulled Carl aside and whispered.

"No," Carl said, turning away.

That reaction told Frank everything. The kid had definitely taken it—and wouldn't admit it.

Frank snatched Carl's backpack and rummaged through it. Sure enough, he found a thick, blood-stained leather notebook. Flipping through it, he saw pages of monster info, photos, and even illustrations.

"Give it back!" Carl protested, trying to grab it. Frank placed a firm hand on the boy's head and held him down.

Carl was only nine—barely waist-high. Even if he jumped, he couldn't reach.

"This isn't something a kid should be looking at. Hm? What's this?" Frank noticed something else in the bag.

It was a notice from school—summoning a parent to discuss Carl's behavior. In other words, a disciplinary meeting.

Carl had a reputation. At school, he was a little tyrant—always pulling harmless pranks: pinning classmates to the wall, yanking their underwear, slamming hands in lockers, spraying water at girls, overwatering the class plants… stuff like that.

So he got called in a lot.

"What's that?" Fiona asked.

"Teacher wants to meet with a parent," Frank handed her the letter.

"Carl! What did you do this time—wait, this notice is from last week!" Fiona raised her voice. The school's tone was serious—Carl could get expelled.

"Go to school. It's fine. I'll talk to the teacher. I won't let them expel him," Frank said, waving the boy off and reassuring Fiona.

"Eddie's dead?!" Lip suddenly exclaimed.

"Hm?!" Frank's attention snapped toward him.