Picture, if you will, the deserted streets of Stonehaven at the witching hour. The town lies in an eerie silence, shadows stretching like dark fingers, alive with hidden menace.
A sudden noise breaks the stillness, sending a shiver down your spine. You whirl around, eyes darting through the empty streets, but find nothing but the oppressive quiet.
Just as you start to exhale in relief, an unexplainable entity—a monstrous apparition, a demon of Stonehaven—emerges from the darkness. Its malevolent grin and bone-chilling laugh cut through the silence, sending waves of terror through your very soul.
Our town is steeped in a grim tradition of confronting these nightmarish creatures. For centuries, we've named and hunted these monsters, sending them back to the hell from which they crawled. We operate with confidence, our weapons concealed, leaving only evil shackled in our wake.
In this world, normalcy is fleeting. We strike in numbers, seizing the beast by its jaws and silencing its malevolent roar. Subduing the monstrous has become routine.
But tonight feels different.
The twilight's glow was swiftly extinguished by the encroaching darkness. The vibrant sunset yielded to an expansive jet-black sky, shrouding the town and heralding the arrival of a new Monster. The air was thick and still, the temperature plummeting as the comforting sounds of evening gave way to the relentless patter of rain, punctuated by flashes of lightning and distant thunder.
It was a perfect night for airships to patrol the skies, their silhouettes gliding through the darkness, vigilant for any sign of the extraordinary.
Suddenly, a shadow darted down the street, followed by ominous figures. It splashed through a puddle, and its pursuers, driven by reckless determination, followed suit.
"Unit 5 heading north on Crescent, reporting an incredibly large something—" crackled a feminine voice in Chief Aomorii's earcomm. Clad in thick tactical armor, her team moved swiftly, Dan inject IM rifles in hand, each loaded with 10 CC S10 syringe darts containing potent, fast-acting Xylazine. High-powered weaponry was at the ready for emergencies. The team navigated the rain-slicked streets, their movements precise and calculated, for they were no strangers to danger.
The relentless rain pattered against their armor, these officers shrouded in black cloaks with hoods pulled tight against the elements. The sound of rain and the soft squelch of their boots against the pocked gravel path had been their constant companions for the past hour. Darkness cloaked the streets, making the chase even more treacherous.
These operatives were the elite, trained to track, secure, and contain the most formidable of foes. Yet, one among them would not return by night's end. They just didn't know it yet.
Like all seasoned MTF members, they focused solely on the mission at hand.
"Unit 9-5, I think I've got eyes on the target. Holy hell, this thing is way too large to be human."
"Some kind of rabid animal, maybe?" A male voice crackled through the intercom, unmistakably the dispatcher.
"Trust me," Chief Aomorii replied as she and her troops pursued the target. Leaping onto a building, they swiftly ascended to its rooftop. "...that is no animal," she asserted, her long trench coat whipping in the wind and her wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over her determined face, resembling a gunslinger.
Preparing an ambush, Aomorii signaled her team to split into groups, positioning themselves to cut off the creature's escape. They moved with precision, intent on slowing it down by any means necessary.
At the Stonehaven Dispatch Center, operators manned their stations amidst a symphony of police scanners and radio transmissions. This command center, the nerve center of communications, buzzed with activity. Tonight, the chief of police and 14 dedicated officers were on the front lines of a harrowing pursuit, tasked with tracking down the elusive entity.
The dispatch center was a hive of vigilance, monitoring local police scanners and receiving urgent updates from Site-Stonehaven. Recent intel was fragmented, filled with terrified screams traced to a nearby industrial district. Witnesses had reported something profoundly disturbing.
Using cutting-edge webcrawler software, the team cataloged sightings and calls, triangulating the creature's location. Field agents were dispatched for reconnaissance, preparing for a coordinated strike.
"Unit 6 to dispatch, we have a situation downtown in the eastern district—multiple fatalities," a female voice crackled through the radio, adding urgency to the already tense atmosphere.
"Copy that! Medics are en route," the dispatcher replied. "Do you have a suspect in sight, Unit 6?!"
Then, silence. The comm link crackled with static, the connection lost.
"Unit 6?!!" The dispatcher's voice grew more urgent.
With her right hand pressed against the cold steel wall, Unit 6, codename for Agent Karlene Mendoza, steeled herself against the encroaching darkness. Each step was cautious, deliberate. The distant thunder seemed to amplify the oppressive tension. She pressed forward despite her mounting fear.
The creature's labored breathing—an unsettling blend of growls and death rattles—resonated through the shadows. With a final, resolute breath, she ventured deeper into the darkness.
Agent Karlene Mendoza was the epitome of excellence among the Foundation's field agents. Known for her unwavering professionalism and steely resolve, she could transform into an unstoppable force when the situation demanded. During an insurgency raid, Mendoza had dispatched four adversaries single-handedly, her final opponent subdued with nothing but her bare hands. In containment breaches, she was always the first to dive into the fray, her Beretta at the ready.
As Unit 6, Mendoza's dedication was such that she accepted the Site Director's offer to reside on-site, ensuring her presence in every emergency. When disaster loomed, the Foundation relied on someone as resolute as Mendoza. She had faced the worst without flinching, embodying unshakable fortitude.
Yet, even Agent Mendoza was not invincible in the face of the unimaginable.
"Unit 6, do you have eyes on the suspect?!!" The dispatcher's voice crackled urgently.
"Not yet. I'm moving in now," Mendoza replied, adjusting the covert earpiece nestled in her ear.
"Understood. Stay cautious, Unit 6. We have no clear intel on what you're dealing with."
"Copy that," she responded, advancing with steely determination.
Earlier, she had tilted her head back to survey the towering structure before her. Once envisioned as a sleek development for young professionals, the construction had halted midway, leaving a skeletal shell suspended in time, awaiting demolition.
She pushed open the heavy entrance door. Inside, the scene before her confirmed that this mission was far more daunting than anticipated.
Traversing the industrial hallways, Mendoza's flashlight revealed a scene of grotesque disarray. The floor was slick with crimson liquid, blood splattering the walls and dripping from the ceiling. The building was a chaos of blood-stained surfaces and strewn debris, the air thick with decay. What was meant to be a straightforward mission—enter, identify the noise, recover data, and leave—had become something far more sinister. Exposed concrete and rusted iron pipes demanded careful navigation.
Her heart pounded as she followed a corridor marked by pipes. There, on the grimy floor, lay a body, gruesomely mutilated with deep claw marks. The deceased was a gaunt figure, skin stretched tight over bones, ashen and lifeless. Sunken eyes and gaping wounds spoke of a violent end. Flies swarmed the exposed flesh, and the stench of decay was nearly overwhelming.
The face was marred with savage bites and scratches. To the untrained eye, it might appear the work of a predatory animal, but Mendoza, with her experience, recognized it as something more sinister. This scene left her with more questions than answers.
The man's bloodied lips emitted a sickly stench of decomposition. Mendoza cataloged the victim—Entity Victim Number 14, one in a series of grisly discoveries. She moved past the body, her breath ragged despite her efforts to stay composed.
Breathe in. Breathe out. The rhythm of her breath became a mantra as she pressed deeper into the building. The absence of the "vicious predator" and immediate signs of foul play offered small relief, but the atmosphere was thick with unease.
A peculiar energy pervaded the space, a chilling draft cutting through the air with a grave-like coldness. This was no ordinary breeze; the icy gust carried a mournful wail, a haunting sound echoing from both the living and the dead. Many might have been shaken by this eerie presence, but Agent Mendoza pressed forward, undeterred by the unsettling atmosphere.
Yet, this brave oversight would soon weigh heavily on her.