Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The pitter-patter of water droplets echoed through the hollow belly of the train, each one a metronome counting down to something inevitable. The periodic tapping was drowned out by the robotic voice announcing the next station, its monotone cadence a complete contrast to the chaos brewing in one passenger's mind.
The train was a graveyard of the living. Men and women in rumpled suits and faded dresses sat slumped in their seats, their faces hollow, their eyes worn.
They were the ghosts of the working world, tied to a life that had long since drained them of color. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and damp wool, a miasma of despair that clung to the walls and seeped into the souls of those who rode the line day after day.
And then there was him.
He sat in the corner, his knees pressed together, his hands trembling as they clutched the edge of the seat. His face was pale, almost translucent under the
lights, and his bloodshot eyes darted nervously toward the door at the end of the car. Every few seconds, he glanced at it, as if it held the answer to a question he couldn't bring himself to ask.
The radio crackled to life, interrupting the silence with the soft strains of an old piano piece. The melody was evocative, a relic from a time long past, and it seemed to wrap itself around the man, pulling him deeper into his thoughts. He closed his eyes, his breath hitching as he came to terms with what he had to do.
Just one step, he thought. One step, and it's over.
The train rattled on, its wheels screeching against the tracks as it rounded a bend. The man's heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the life he was about to leave behind. He stood abruptly, his legs unsteady beneath him, and stumbled toward the door.
The other passengers didn't notice. They were too lost in their own worlds, their own miseries. To them, he was just another shadow, another face in the crowd.
He reached for the door handle, his fingers brushing against the cold metal. For a moment, he hesitated, his resolve slipping. But then the music swelled, and the voice in his head grew louder, drowning out everything else.
Do it.
He pulled the door open, the rush of wind hitting him like a slap to the face. The world outside was a blur of darkness and light, a frenzied spiral of motion that seemed to beckon him forward. He took a deep breath, his chest tightening as he prepared to take the final step.
But before he could move, something stopped him.
A presence. Cold yet warm, it slithered into his mind, wrapping itself around his thoughts like a serpent. He froze, his body still, as a voice—deep and guttural, yet somehow melodic—spoke to him from the shadows.
"You don't have to do this," it whispered. "I can make it all go away."
The man's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. The presence was inside him now, filling the cracks in his soul, twisting his thoughts until he could no longer tell where he ended and it began.
The other passengers finally noticed. They turned their heads, their eyes widening in horror as the man's body began to convulse. His skin darkened, his veins bulging as something monstrous took hold. The piano music swelled to a crescendo, as the man let out a piercing scream that was not entirely his own.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.
The man stood still, his head tilted to one side, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. He turned to face the other passengers, a crude smile spreading across his face.
The Aspect had found its host.
"Gray. We have a code six on the Manhattan railway. EXTERMINATE the threat immediately."
"Why do I have to do it?" The voice on the other end of the comms crackled with static, but the annoyance was clear.
"Because you're the closest person to it," She snapped, her eyes locked on the live feed from the train. The screen flickered with grainy images of chaos—screams, blood, and something else. Something that moved too fast to be human. "Hurry."
The train car shuddered as the thing tore through the passengers. Blood sprayed across the windows, streaking the glass like fresh paint. The screams were cut short, one by one, until only the sound of crunching metal remained.
The monster—the Aspect, paused at the door to the next car. Its clawed hand gripped the frame, and with a sickening crunch, it ripped the door clean off. The screams started again, louder this time, but they didn't last long.
In the next car, a man sat slumped in his seat, his head tilted back against the window. His gray hair was disheveled, and his eyes were half-closed, as if he were bored. The Aspect froze, its head turning unnaturally to the side as it studied him.
"You know," the man said, his voice calm, almost conversational, "I had plans tonight. Dinner, drinks, maybe a little... fun." He sighed, glancing at the monster. "But no. Instead, I'm stuck here with you."
The monster began striding toward him.
"I had reserved this fancy spot like a week ago," he murmured, "Cost an arm and a leg too."
The Aspect lunged, its claws slicing through the air with a sound like a razor through silk. But the man was gone. The seat where he'd been sitting was shredded, the foam spilling out like guts.
"I could understand the first few times, but six?" Gray said. "C'mon, you have to be messing with me at this point."
The aspect growled, turning to him.
"Not the talkative type, are you?" the man said, his voice coming from behind the creature. Before it could react, his foot connected with its side, sending it crashing through the train car. The impact tore through the walls, sparks and debris flying in its wake.
The Aspect skidded to a stop at the far end of the car, its body twisted and broken. But it wasn't dead. It never was. Slowly, it began to pull itself together, its limbs snapping back into place with a series of sickening pops.
The man sighed again, brushing a strand of gray hair from his face. "You know, I really don't understand it a lot of the time—"
Before he could finish his sentence, the Aspect dashed toward him, its giant fist lunging through the air, aimed directly at Gray's head. But in the next second, it crashed through the train window, and Gray was sitting on an empty seat to the side.
"As I was saying," Gray said, sighing, "There are a lot of exterminators, you know. It's a pretty secluded space, but I'm not the only one." He leaned back, his tone weary. "I've had overtime for the past week now. Can't you do me a favor and turn back or something or at least pop up in someone else's district?"
The Aspect lunged toward him, its fist smashing through the seat. This time, it tracked Gray's movements, chasing him and slamming both fists down. But again, as it raised its fists, its target was nowhere to be found.
"I'll take that as a no," Gray said, brushing off his dark coat. "You're really bad at taking hints, you know that?"
"Mist Valley: Fog Blade."
In an instant, the Aspect reeled back, both hands clutching its chest. Blood leaked from its mouth as it slowly glanced down. Inside its chest was a spear—but from where?
"Confused? Don't worry, I get that a lot," Gray said, standing on the base of the spear, staring into the Aspect's eyes.
"What you're looking at is a mass-less weapon—or at least, it was mass-less," he said, his voice carrying an educative tone. "I manipulated the water vapor and dust particles in the air, compressing and hardening them into a solid state. But don't let the simplicity fool you. It's precise, efficient, and more than enough to take you down."
The monster swung its arm, but it merely phased through Gray, his body taking on a translucent form until the hand had passed. "And just in case you were wondering, no, you can't touch me either. I did the same thing this time in reverse, turning my body matter—"
The monster fell to its knees as Gray jumped off the spear. With a swing of his arm, the spear disappeared, blood now oozing from the creature's wound.
"Now, I could keep going, but you look like you've had enough," Gray said, raising his hand and closing one eye. "Let's call it a day, huh?"
As the Aspect raised its head, a burst of air blew past it and in the next second, the Aspect's head fell to the ground, rolling to the side.
"Code six, exterminated," Gray said, cracking his neck. "Good work, team—oh wait, it's just me. As usual."
"Good job, Gray. You can head back to base now," the voice crackled over the comms.
"Wow, no 'thank you'? No 'great work, Gray, you're amazing'?" Gray muttered, noticing the lack of static on the other line. "You know, we really need to talk about how I'm the only one you call up. I don't mind being your favorite, but a little appreciation wouldn't kill you. Maybe a bonus? A raise? A fruit basket?"
Silence.
"Hey, boss, you there?"
She wasn't.
With a sigh, he glanced toward the Aspect. In a few minutes, it would turn to ash, its remains flowing into the air like smoke. The destruction it had left behind would probably be explained away on the news—a gas leak, maybe, or a freak accident. Gray reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled packet of cigarettes.
"Still," he muttered, lighting one and taking a long drag. "Six in one week..." He exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the air. "I've got a bad feeling about this."