Picture, if you will, the deserted streets of Stonehaven at the witching hour.
The town lies suffocated beneath an eerie stillness, its streets draped in shadows that stretch like dark fingers, twitching with unseen malice.
A sudden noise shatters the quiet—sharp, unnatural. It slithers through the silence like a blade, cutting straight to your nerves. You whirl around, eyes sweeping the darkness, but there is nothing—only the suffocating quiet, heavier now.
Then, it emerges.
An unholy thing—a monstrous apparition, born of nightmare and shadow—slides forth from the gloom. Its smile is a grotesque curvature, its laughter a serrated echo that saws into the night and your soul. A demon of Stonehaven, unmistakable.
Our town knows these horrors well.
For centuries, we've hunted such monsters, naming them, binding them, and banishing them back to the hells they clawed from. We strike with precision, our weapons veiled in secrecy. Where we tread, evil falls silent.
But tonight… tonight is different.
The sky surrendered early to darkness, the sun vanishing beneath a shroud of bruised clouds. The last of twilight was drowned by the black canopy overhead. A stillness took root in the air—unnatural, too quiet. Then came the rain. Cold, relentless. It drummed across rooftops and gutters, a prelude to the storm that followed.
Lightning stitched white scars across the sky. Thunder rolled in answer. And high above, airships patrolled in silence, their massive silhouettes drifting like specters through the gloom—watching, waiting.
Suddenly, a shadow sprinted down Crescent Street.
It splashed through a puddle—then more shadows followed. Heavier, faster.
"Unit 5 heading north on Crescent! Reporting an incredibly large—" crackled a woman's voice in Chief Aomorii's earcomm.
The Chief moved with purpose, her long trench coat trailing behind her, soaked black by the rain. A wide-brimmed hat shielded her eyes, casting her face into shadow like some vengeful gunslinger.
Her squad, clad in reinforced armor beneath tactical cloaks, maneuvered like clockwork. Each gripped a Dan Inject IM rifle, loaded with S10 syringes—ten CCs of Xylazine strong enough to down a charging Grale-beast. Their backup weapons hummed with power, prepped for escalation.
Boots pounded against the slick gravel. Their breath fogged the air, each exhale shallow but steady. These weren't ordinary officers. This was the elite. Trained to track, subdue, and contain entities that defy explanation. But tonight, one of them would not make it home.
"Unit 9-5, I've got eyes on the target. Holy hell—this thing's too big to be human."
"Some kind of rabid animal, maybe?" the dispatcher offered.
Aomorii, scaling a nearby fire escape in pursuit, didn't hesitate.
"Trust me," she said coldly. "That is no animal."
From above, she motioned for her team to split, flanking the creature's possible escape routes. The ambush was meticulous, sharpened by years of repetition. They didn't chase monsters—they cornered them.
At the Stonehaven Dispatch Center, a storm of static and voices buzzed. Officers sat hunched over screens, tracking multiple reports. The space thrummed with urgency. Site-Stonehaven's coordination hub was at full capacity, relaying data and issuing directives.
"Unit 6 to Dispatch—we've got a situation in the Eastern Industrial District. Multiple fatalities."
The room went still.
"Copy that," the dispatcher responded. "Do you have eyes on the suspect, Unit 6?"
Static. No reply.
"Unit 6, do you copy?"
A beat. Then—"Moving in now."
Agent Karlene Mendoza—Unit 6—pressed her palm to the cold, corrugated wall, steadying her breath. Her boots clicked softly against the concrete, the sound nearly swallowed by the building's heavy silence. The air reeked of rust, mold... and blood.
This wasn't her first breach. She had seen horrors most couldn't imagine. During the Deadwood Insurgency, Mendoza neutralized four targets in under five minutes—one with her bare hands. In breach scenarios, she didn't hesitate; she surged forward.
Tonight, however, something felt wrong.
The unfinished tower loomed ahead. A failed luxury project, now just concrete bones and broken promises.
Mendoza stepped inside. Her flashlight flicked to life—and the corridor responded with silence.
Then blood. Everywhere.
Streaks on the wall. Pools on the floor. A ceiling that wept red. Her boots squelched through it. This was no ordinary ambush. This was a massacre.
Pipes snaked along the ceiling like veins. She followed them—until she found him.
A man. Or what was left of him.
Skin pale and stretched, his body shredded by claws too large for any known predator. His face was a canvas of violence. Flies buzzed at torn flesh. The stench of rot filled her lungs.
Entity Victim #14.
She pressed on, her resolve carved from years of discipline—but her breath caught, ragged now.
The temperature dropped.
A cold, unnatural draft crept down her spine. But it wasn't just the cold. It was... mourning. The wind sobbed. Not through the pipes, not through the rafters—but from the walls themselves.
And something was watching her.
Mendoza's grip tightened on her Beretta. Still, she moved forward.
Because monsters don't hunt cowards. They hunt the brave. The bold.
And tonight… Stonehaven's bravest might not return.