The cruiser rolled to a stop before a well-kept three-story apartment building, cleaner and better maintained than most of the others lining Wispen Street. Its exterior lights glowed faintly beneath the rain, casting pale reflections across the wet pavement.
Inside the vehicle, Sergeant Kael leaned forward and pressed a button on the dashboard.
"Dispatch, hit me with the 10-43 on the disturbance."
The console blinked, then crackled to life with a male voice.
"Possible domestic or in-progress crime at 1968 Wispen Street, unit 303. No prior reports on the address. Anonymous caller mentioned an 'eerie sound' coming from the unit. Said it sounded like someone might be in danger."
The moment the line closed, both officers stepped out into the downpour. Transparent hoods slid up from their black suits, shielding their heads as droplets hissed off the surface. Sleek and matte, their uniforms were standard issue: reinforced body suits with soft plating, sidearms holstered on the hip, along with a secondary device resembling a taser. A glass-like monocle covered one eye on each officer, its faint glow scanning with every head movement.
Steven stood tall, lean yet defined—a young man in his prime with controlled posture and quiet awareness in his stride. Beside him, Sergeant Kael was broader, taller still, and built like a man who'd spent years in the field. His expression, usually relaxed and amused, was now calm and unreadable.
As they approached the building's entrance, Kael broke the silence.
"Anonymous caller. Possible 10-31. What's our approach, rookie?"
Steven replied without hesitation.
"Approach on foot. Even if it's not an active crime scene, we stay sharp. Knock and announce. If there's no response and no visible sign of a crime, we don't enter. If we hear anything suspicious, we call it in, force entry, and assess."
Kael glanced at him sideways. "An eerie sound from a locked unit counts as a crime in progress?"
Steven hesitated, thoughtful. "Might just be a local with a conscience… or an informant."
Kael gave a single nod. "Fair read."
They reached the third floor without incident, the hallway dim but dry. Unit 303 stood quietly at the far end. The gold-stenciled numbers gleamed faintly under the hallway lights.
Kael positioned himself to the side of the door. "Go on, rookie. Make contact."
Steven stepped up and knocked firmly.
"This is Caelumbra PD. We received a report about a disturbance."
Silence.
He pressed the doorbell on the right side of the frame.
"Hello? Police. Is anyone home?"
Nearly a minute passed. No voices. No movement. Just the soft hum of the building's power and a dull, flat chime from the doorbell's automated response system—an emotionless message looping on repeat.
Kael looked over. "So? What now?"
Steven exhaled and asked, "Can I try something?"
Kael raised a brow. "That sensory trick you mentioned?"
Steven nodded. "Yeah."
"Alright. Give it a go."
Steven closed his eyes and steadied his breath. A faint static sound built in the air as tiny sparks crawled over his skin. Then, with a pulse like a heartbeat, a ripple of nearly imperceptible electrical energy spread from his body, reaching outward through walls and wiring like invisible fingers.
He opened his eyes, his brow creased.
"Three neural signatures inside—weak, barely registering."
Kael's face turned serious. He stepped closer to the door, and in that moment, something in him shifted. His casual air faded. The weight of his presence intensified like a sudden drop in pressure. His pupils flared golden, narrow slits cutting through the irises. A forked black tongue flicked briefly from between his lips, tasting the air, then vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Steven's eyes widened. "You're a Shifter?"
Kael's voice dropped, low and focused.
"Yes. But not the point right now. You were right—I'm picking up heat… and I smell blood."
He tapped the device on his wrist and spoke firmly.
"Dispatch, we've got exigent circumstances. Forcing entry at 303. Standby for backup."
"Copy that, Echo 2-11," came the calm reply.
Kael drew his weapon and gave Steven a nod. "Your turn."
Steven mirrored him, pulling out his sidearm. He raised his left hand toward the lock, hovering just above the panel. Blue sparks flickered and danced across his fingers. A low buzz vibrated through the door as the lock clicked.
Kael's boot struck out in a practiced motion—one swift kick—and the door flew open.
They moved with practiced precision, clearing each room of the unit in silence. The hallway was dim, the artificial light flickering slightly overhead—subtle, but enough to fray already taut nerves.
Sergeant Kael reached a closed door at the far end of the corridor. It was the only one locked.
Steven fell in behind him, confirming with a terse nod. "That's the one."
Kael's demeanor darkened. "Alright. I breach, you cover."
With fluid motion, he shifted his weapon to his dominant hand, then seized the knob with his left. The cheap alloy gave way under the pressure, twisting with a brittle crack. He delivered a solid kick to the door, sending it swinging open.
What greeted them stopped both men cold.
Kael froze mid-step, weapon half-raised. Steven halted behind him, breath caught in his throat.
Time seemed to fracture, every second elongating into an unbearable eternity.
Kael's voice emerged low and cracked, stripped of all composure. "How… the fuck… is she even alive?"
The room before them was a grotesque tableau, something that no mind could prepare for.
At the center, a woman was suspended against the wall like a macabre centerpiece. Her torso had been split clean down the middle—peeled open like some cruel experiment. Her flayed skin had been stretched outward, pinned to the wall in symmetrical sheets, muscles exposed and twitching faintly beneath the sterile light. Her veins and arteries had been arranged in intricate patterns around her, almost artistic in their precision, forming something between a diagram and a ritualistic symbol.
Inside the gaping cavity of her torso, her ribs and internal organs had been carefully removed—each one set and displayed meticulously upon the outstretched skin like a twisted collage. And in the empty cradle of her body… sat a writhing sack of flesh.
She was alive.
The organs still pulsed. Blood still circulated. Her body was still functioning, sustained by grotesque contraptions on the floor, machines humming quietly, feeding her through a tangle of tubes and wires.
Kael instinctively stepped forward, overwhelmed, revolted, and angry—but Steven's hand shot out, grabbing his shoulder.
Kael turned to him, dazed. The rookie's face was ashen, eyes wide with pure, silent terror. He hadn't thought—he had just acted, driven by some primal sense that screamed stop.
Kael's gaze drifted forward again, and only then did he notice it: a thin, translucent membrane hanging just past the threshold, nearly invisible unless caught by the right angle of light. A boundary. A trap.
No, it was Something else.
If he had stepped forward, he would've pierced it—and he knew with bone-deep certainty that something unspeakable would have happened. Not to them, but to her, because if it were a trap, his senses would have warned him of the danger.
A realization hit him like a brick.
His eyes snapped to Steven. "You said… you sensed three signals." His voice was a breath, tight with dread.
Steven's hand, shaking now, slowly pointed—not at the machines, not at the woman's head, but at the fleshy sack nestled in the abdominal cavity of her hollowed body.
Kael staggered back, horror blooming anew. The meaning sank in like ice water to the spine.
Steven turned and bolted, barely making it to the hallway before doubling over and vomiting.
Kael stood trembling, the breath stolen from his lungs. He fell back onto the nearest couch, trying to ground himself, his vision swimming.
Then… clarity struck. And with it, rage.
There, just a few feet away, a sitting area. A couch. A coffee table. The way they were positioned, facing the horror, like a private theater. Whoever did this hadn't simply tortured her—they watched. They enjoyed it. They studied it.
Kael's hand clenched. The weapon trembled in his grip as fury built behind his ribs, surging like pressure behind a dam.
Then, through the nauseating silence, a voice, a hoarse, rasping whisper, escaped from the broken thing pinned to the wall.
It wasn't a cry.
It wasn't a plea.
It was a sound, raw and animalistic, and it clawed its way through Kael's spine like a cold hook.
Then another voice—familiar, but distant.
"Echo 2-11, status check. Confirm the situation inside unit 303. You breached due to exigent.
Do you copy?"
Kael didn't answer. He couldn't.
The radio crackled again.
"Echo 2-11, this is Dispatch… come in…"
But the voices faded into nothing.
Outside, the rain intensified, hammering the city like warning drums. Thunder cracked across the clouds, bright veins of lightning illuminating the skyline of Caelumbra.
A storm was coming—one unlike any the city had ever known.
And in the dark heart of unit 303, beneath the ever-brooding sky, something unspeakable had stirred.