Chapter 61: The Stranger
"Hello, Commissioner Quick, sorry to call you over so late."
"Hello, sir. Oh... I mean, it's okay."
Dickie Quick looked exhausted, his face pale and his hair a mess. His eyes were filled with anxiety and torment; he hadn't slept all night and had barely dozed off in the early hours, only to be woken by a slight noise outside the window, making sleep elusive. Clearly, he was under immense psychological pressure.
"Call me Marlowe. Have a coffee, don't be nervous, let's just chat," Marlowe Chaplin said, setting down the coffee he was holding. His tone was casual, as he tried not to add to the stress of the man before him. Though he internally disdained such weaklings, they were too common and from different departments, so he felt it a waste to even comment.
A whole day had passed since the eerie, malformed monster had seemingly vanished into thin air. Even DARPA's Bat Zones that See couldn't locate it, leaving Marlowe passively waiting. He remembered this commissioner who had supposedly confronted the monster face-to-face and brought him in for a talk, hoping to glean some useful information.
"I've already said everything I know; there's really nothing more to add, the notes are with my colleague."
Dickie Quick held his steaming coffee mug with both hands, as if drawing warmth from it, staring blankly at the table.
Marlowe Chaplin had already seen the notes, but he preferred to discuss them again in person. His years of experience taught him that key details often hide behind someone's oversight, and patiently unraveling clues could lead to unexpected discoveries, so he remained silent and direct:
"Dickie. I heard about your partner. I'm sorry."
Hearing this, Dickie Quick trembled, his eyes reddening instantly. He then covered his face with his hands, emitting a wounded animal-like howl. He was haunted by not having rushed into the fast-food restaurant sooner; perhaps if he had been braver or quicker, Tevin, the foolish kid, might have had a chance. And it was he who had told him to cease fire!
It was all his fault!
Marlowe Chaplin did this on purpose. It wasn't the time for coddling; he didn't have much time to console him, and driving him to a breakdown seemed a good choice, as people often think clearer and calm down after venting thoroughly.
So, he waited patiently, silent. About fifteen minutes later, Dickie Quick had straightened up and was speaking more fluently.
"That day, my partner and I were patrolling the west district as usual. Suddenly, we received orders from headquarters, so we rushed to the scene... and saw that guy holding a victim's body. He didn't comply with the command to put his hands on his head and kneel... so my partner Tevin fired, hitting him in the right arm... The monster seemed surprised to have been shot. He just stood there, staring at his arm in confusion... then suddenly, as if enraged, he charged at us... He was too fast..."
"Hold on!" Marlowe, who had been listening intently, suddenly interrupted. "You said he stood there motionless, then your partner shot and hit him, and he just froze, not reacting in pain like most people, but just blankly staring at his arm?"
Dickie was slightly wary, not fully understanding Marlowe's point. "My partner did everything by the book, he warned before shooting..."
Marlowe waved his hand, "No, no, no, you misunderstand, I'm not saying there was anything wrong with the shooting. I'm asking if you're sure that he just stood there letting you shoot, and then his reaction was strange, and it took him a while to attack you? I need to know his reaction, Dickie, think carefully, it's important!"
Dickie hesitated for a moment, then replied with an uncertain tone, "It was already dark, the lights were a bit dazzling, he seemed to dodge a bit, I'm not very sure. But he definitely froze for a moment, like... like he didn't expect us to shoot... No, like it was his first time seeing someone shoot... even though I didn't fire any shots after that... I should have continued shooting with Tevin... maybe then not so many colleagues would have died..."
He chuckled bitterly, then vigorously rubbed his already messy hair.
Marlowe Chaplin ignored his self-deprecating remarks, recalling what he had seen in the video. The monster was unbelievably fast, and with the ordinary P226 and M9 semi-automatic pistols equipped by the officers, and their rookie-like accuracy, hitting him was nearly impossible.
Why then did the monster stand still and let the officer shoot, rather than preemptively attacking? What changed afterward? His reaction was also very odd, something difficult to
discern from the videos.
Marlowe heavily underlined in his notebook before speaking:
"No, no, no, it's not your fault, Dickie. Listen to me, he's far more terrifying than you think, so you really shouldn't blame yourself."
Dickie's eyes were red, and he shook his head in pain.
"I don't know, Marlowe. Thank you, ever since yesterday, I've been afraid to talk about this. Whenever I close my eyes, I see those dead colleagues, sometimes their faces turn into Tevin's, asking me why I didn't save him..."
Marlowe Chaplin glanced at his watch, the hands pointing to 11 PM. He looked up at Dickie and continued, "Just like I said, this isn't your fault, Dickie. Due to confidentiality, I can't reveal more, but even if you had been there, it wouldn't have helped. So we need to focus on the present. I'm asking you, from the time you arrived at the scene until he left your sight, did that monster say anything?"
Dickie paused, trying hard to remember, then shook his head blankly.
"He didn't say a word the whole time... Right, his expression was also very strange... I've never seen anyone with an expression like that... so completely numb... hardly showing any emotions. I'd say he might really be mentally ill... this deformed monster..."
Marlowe Chaplin added another heavy mark in his notebook full of notes, falling into deep thought. The more he asked, the more he doubted the monster's reactions, whether from the videos or from witness statements. No one seemed to have communicated with him, or tried to, like the waitress, but everyone uniformly stated:
The creature didn't speak.
Was it that he didn't speak, didn't want to, or couldn't speak?
"Marlowe... Is that guy even human?"
Dickie hesitated, looking at him with a hopeful gaze, as if seeking an answer.
Marlowe Chaplin remained silent for a moment before replying:
"I can only tell you that we're not sure yet. But from a personal standpoint, I wouldn't consider him human. So—I suggest you think the same."
Dickie nodded, about to speak when the door of the interrogation room was abruptly pushed open. An excited officer from the operations department stood at the door.
"Chief, we've located the target!"
Marlowe Chaplin immediately stood up and without a word, closed his notebook and walked out.
"Marlowe... Chief..."
Dickie almost stood up at the same time, even knocking over his chair. He felt an urge to ask this man to let him join the pursuit, to shoot all his bullets into the body of that monster!
However, facing the eyes of Marlowe Chaplin and the other officer looking at him, his lips trembled a few times, but the faces of his wife and two children at home flashed through his mind, and he ultimately bowed his head, shaking, unable to voice his request.
Marlowe Chaplin's gaze lingered on him for a few seconds before he quickly walked out.
Chapter 62: The Docks
"Match at 87%, but the movement is extremely fast, very similar to the actions in the video. It has entered the residential area, which has some cheap bars and hotels, a common hangout for dock workers and truck drivers."
As the DARPA technician swiftly manipulated the controls, the large screen displayed a live tracking map. A large red dot representing the target moved steadily across the virtual panorama, accompanied by silently tracking video footage.
"Port of Los Angeles... so that's where you've been hiding, no wonder we couldn't find you..."
Marlowe Chaplin's eyes were fixed on the screen; the deformed monster appeared again at night. Was this a coincidence, or was the creature deliberately using the cover of darkness for its movements? The docks, less populated compared to the city center and near midnight, were ideal for covert operations. He almost believed that the creature was making it easy for them to corner it.
If it were during the busiest times and in crowded districts, the chaos would undoubtedly be a major hassle.
And this time, can you still escape? Marlowe's eyes gleamed coldly.
"Notify everyone to deploy!"
"Chief, should we alert the SWAT team?"
Red-haired Sierra Blaze asked.
"Notify them, let them join the operation, but keep them on the perimeter."
After a moment's hesitation, Marlowe decided not to issue the order to merely delay and hinder. Since their eagerness to fight was strong, he might as well satisfy them. In case the monster broke through the cordon or something unexpected happened, an extra bit of strength might just come in handy.
The Port of Los Angeles, located at the tip of San Pedro Bay in southwestern California, is the second largest container port in the United States. Each year, the port handles over five million standard containers.
Looking around, there were countless cranes like steel bridges, various dockside gantries, mobile gantries, straddle carriers, floating cranes, container cranes, and loading bridges, with rows upon rows of stacked containers beneath them.
Several hundred meters from the port area, many low-rise buildings and a few tall structures housed the dockworkers and administrative staff of transportation companies.
Further down one of the sloping roads, Robert's Lafayette Bar was as bustling and noisy as usual, packed to the brim.
A strong mix of sweat and fishy smells filled the air. Laughter, screams, curses, and the clinking of glasses merged into a cacophony nearly impossible to discern.
At a table near the door, two men sat closely, whispering intimately without any inhibition, while everyone around them continued to focus on their drinks or the televised sports match.
Yes, this was a gay bar.
After a while, the two intimate lovers seemed to start arguing, pushing and questioning each other. Then, one of them cursed and stormed out the door.
People who saw this burst into laughter and started shouting.
"Poor little Gilly. Dumped again."
"Come on, sweetheart, come to my arms."
"Hey! Watch out for that cannibal on the loose."
"What cannibal, the son of a bitch would meet my big gun if I saw him..."
"I bet you wouldn't last ten seconds!"
"I bet twenty seconds!"
"FUCK YOU!"
These burly men, although joking unreservedly, were clearly familiar with each other and took no offense, only raising their voices louder in response.
The one who had earlier boasted about his "weapon" below was wearing an old red tank top, apparently having drunk too much, muttered a few words, and stood up to go to the restroom.
"Let me take a piss, then I'll come back and drink with you!"
"Hey, asshole, the restroom is in the back, don't piss by my door, or I'll blow your balls off!"
"Alright, I'll go a bit farther!"
The burly man ignored the furious bartender and owner, impatiently flicking his hand and staggering out the door, belching heavily with a breath of alcohol. The fishy sea breeze hit him, sobering him up a bit. He shook his head vigorously and peered into the dark outside, hesitated for a moment, then decided to venture a little farther to urinate.
"Farther" was just around the corner across the street. He stumbled a few steps to the eaves of a building, leaned on the wall with his burly arm, and brusquely unzipped his fly. Soon, the sound of urine splashing noisily broke the silence.
"Ah!"
Damn that feels good!
Huh? What was that sound?
The newly relieved burly man turned his head, barely catching sight of a shadow under the eaves about ten meters away, accompanied by rustling noises.
"Hey! Gilly?! What's wrong, crying like a woman again? Or did you drink too much and vomit?"
The burly man zipped up, casually wiped his hands on
his pants, and walked toward the shadowy figure.
"I've told you before, those guys are no good, and only you would foolishly cozy up to them. If it weren't for your brother Warren asking me to look out for you, I wouldn't bother with you. Get up and stop whimpering like a woman..."
The burly man, perhaps too talkative from the alcohol, seemed to forget that the one he was chastising was usually the more passive partner. However, as he got closer, he realized that the figure turning to look at him wasn't the little Gilly he had imagined.
"Huh? Buddy, what are you doing squatting here?"
Realizing his mistake, the burly man didn't walk away. Instead, he slowly bent down, trying to make out the face of this sneaky figure. When they were just a few feet apart, he finally managed to see more clearly under the dim light from a distance—the person's hair was wet and sticky, clinging to his forehead, with an ordinary appearance, but there was a ring of something crimson around his mouth...
A cool breeze brought a sharp, metallic scent to his nose, snapping his slightly inebriated mind to attention. Only then did he notice behind the man, a blood-soaked calf barely visible.
"YOU SON OF BITCH, what have you done..."
Before the burly man could finish, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. His eyes bulged, blood vessels burst, and he coughed up a mouthful of fresh blood in disbelief as he realized that the monster's muscular arm had somehow deeply pierced his chest.