In the Second District, there were seven police stations, but only five were fully operational. The seventh, the largest and most well-equipped, handled crimes that spilled over into the border with the First District—a place notorious for being one of the worst areas to live.
Recently, a wave of violent crimes had swept through both districts, and the forces at the Seventh Station were on the verge of collapse. There was no time for nonsense.
Officer Nolan, a fifty-year-old man, was one of the few awakened individuals who still willingly worked overtime without expecting recognition. Known for his patience and respect even toward those who didn't deserve it, he was, at that moment, on the brink of losing his composure.
In front of him, slamming his hands on the table and shouting, stood a tall man dressed in a designer blue suit, an obnoxiously large gold watch, and Italian shoes. Anyone who saw him would think he was a successful, well-put-together man—at least until his suit and shoes were completely covered in mud, and his watch stopped working after being knocked to the ground.
"Maybe he wasn't as great as he claimed to be," thought McKay, the one responsible for leaving the man in such a state.
"That damn bastard broke my nose and ruined my suit! I want him arrested, Nolan!"
It was impressive—the courage, or stupidity—of this man to raise his voice at a police officer from the Second District. And not just any officer, but one of the few awakened individuals of Gamma Rank—commonly called G-Rank—who lived in the area. In a place where laws were almost nonexistent, the final word always belonged to the highest urban authority. And in this case, that was Nolan, a man capable of partially destroying a district.
"As far as we know, Adrian, you also assaulted him. And considering the size difference, the cowardice came from you."
"What?! WHAT?! He attacked me with a weapon! A WEAPON!" Adrian glanced at the young man in the chair beside him, who responded with a friendly smile. "He tried to kill me, Nolan!"
In the chair next to him, with his right wrist cuffed to the uncomfortable furniture, sat McKay, a regular at the station for the past few years. His face was marked with bruises, a black eye, and fresh blood dripping from the corner of his lips. Despite being in as bad a shape as Adrian, McKay could barely contain his laughter.
Nolan, with no time to arrest someone over a street fight, slowly stood up. His peaceful aura and friendly expression vanished instantly, turning the atmosphere of the station into something as morbid as a morgue. Even McKay, who knew the officer well, felt his heart race with fear.
Adrian, who was closer to Nolan, fell back into his chair as soon as the man rose to his feet.
"Adrian…" Nolan said slowly. His effort to contain his anger was evident, and his aura, usually as calm as a lake, now felt like that of a gorilla about to strangle a smaller animal. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave. We're busy with actual important cases here, and I've already received a call from Mr. Northwest warning me that you were harassing his daughter. Which lines up with McKay's statement. I'll have a talk with the boy myself, but I don't have time for your whining… Get out."
Adrian, with no choice, stood up and left so quickly it looked like he might soil himself. McKay covered his mouth with his left hand, holding back a laugh to avoid disrespecting old Nolan.
As soon as Adrian was gone, Nolan sat back down, and the heavy atmosphere returned to normal.
"Hahahahaha…" McKay couldn't hold back his laughter any longer. "Did you see his face? He was so brave until you stood up. Then he fell back with the biggest 'Oh heavens, my underwear is so mushy…' look. And I'm pretty sure it was…"
Nolan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, massaging his temples with his fingers.
"Oh gods, give me the patience to deal with this kid, because if you give me strength, I'll strangle him to death myself…"
McKay fell silent at the threat. Nolan's voice was as respectful as ever, but with that subtle undertone of a death threat that only the awakened could convey.
"Declan, care to explain what happened?"
It wasn't a suggestion, nor a request.
"He was trying to pull a Han Solo on my sister, so I taught him to respect a lady."
McKay didn't lose his smile, even in the presence of someone so powerful.
"Is that why your lip is bleeding?"
McKay seemed to notice only now, wiping the blood from his face with his free hand.
"This is serious, Declan. You hit his nose with a can full of coins. That's technically a weapon."
McKay sighed at the sound of his first name. He hated that name as much as the person who chose it.
"I was on my way to check on my mom's treatment, but then I saw that jerk hitting on my sister. She just turned seventeen, and on top of that, he was using our mom's debt to pressure her. I went after him, but I didn't attack from behind—I just caught him off guard. He didn't see me coming, so when I hit his nose, Adrian fell and started spouting nonsense. We had a friendly duel, and I guess it ended in a draw."
Nolan, as usual, listened in silence, reflecting on the situation. He knew there wasn't much to do once McKay decided to fight Adrian.
"Alright," he said, grabbing the key to the handcuffs and releasing McKay.
"By the way, was that really necessary?"
"Considering he was in slightly worse shape, yes."
McKay stood up and stretched his arms, relieved to finally be free. Ready to leave, he gave a quick, sloppy two-fingered salute as he walked away.
"How's your mom doing?"
Nolan's voice made him stop abruptly. It was common knowledge in the neighborhood that his mother had been forcibly institutionalized by her own husband, and though no one asked, it was obvious everyone thought about it when they saw him. Of the three siblings, he was the one who looked most like her—pale skin, light brown eyes, and reddish-brown hair, like a mahogany tree. From a distance, they could've passed for twins, and McKay hated it.
"As far as I know, she's learning to behave. She should be released in a few months if she can stay in line."
Before Nolan could ask anything else, McKay rushed out the door like a convict escaping prison.
Outside, waiting patiently in a chair, was a young man who slightly resembled McKay, younger and more handsome. Seeing him come out, he stood up and walked over.
"Look at him, the savior of the nation," he said, his tone as sarcastic as McKay's usually was.
"Don't start, Mike."
"What? I'm just praising my big bro. My pride."
As they walked down the street, McKay looked around as if he were hunting for something. Mike, beside him, knew exactly what it was.
"Relax, I saw him leave. And honestly, I don't think he's coming after you anytime soon. As much as you're pitiful, the fight was pretty… balanced?"
"Balanced?"
"If by 'balanced' you mean one minute he was hitting you, and the next you were getting hit, then yeah. It was pretty balanced."
McKay felt his pride being pierced by a cold, long blade, shattering what little he had left. With no comeback, he punched Mike's shoulder hard.
"I wasn't worried about him." McKay hesitated, as if the words were stuck in his throat. "I was wondering if Kitty came too, considering my handsome face ended up like this defending her honor."
"She sent a text, but she didn't bother showing up. What did you expect? She's immature and mad at her brother."
In a rare moment, McKay stayed silent. His bruised face looked even more defeated as the orange light of the setting sun touched his skin.
"Declan… You… You did good. That jerk's been coming to our house almost every day for months. He said if we didn't pay, he'd take our house. And Dad's not too concerned."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you're an idiot."
Another blade, this one bigger. The lack of respect from his brother was even more apparent.
"Excuse me?"
"Am I lying? You'd go after that guy and his gang, pick a fight, and get beaten to death." With every word, McKay felt his pride shatter further. "I admire your courage and appreciate the help, but let's be real: the only reason you're not in the hospital is because Kitty saw her brother was about to die and hit that creep with a weird can."
"It's a coin can. She was collecting rare coins."
"Which are now scattered all over the street thanks to the knight in shining armor who showed up to save her in the dumbest way possible. She and I have always handled this without needing to bleed all over him."
McKay sighed, remembering the "prayer" Officer Nolan had made to the gods and wishing for the same patience.
"I admit I have a tendency to pick fights I can't win. But if no one's going to do anything, then I will."
Mike smiled faintly, feeling a bit of pride in his brother's courage. Declan had always jumped into trouble for any valid reason—sometimes not so valid. But whenever something went against his principles, he acted however he could, even if it meant taking a beating for others. It was what he called his "convictions."
'That's kinda cool…'
"Anyway, I brought some money to help you guys." McKay's words interrupted Mike's thoughts as he pulled a small envelope from his pocket.
"Oh, cash? Couldn't you do a digital transfer?"
"You're complaining about free money?"
Mike chuckled lightly.
"I'm messing with you, Deck. Anyway, thanks. I gotta get home before it gets dark. Good luck, and try not to die."
"Is that something you say? I'm not dying anytime soon!"
"I hope not, because I need help paying Mom's debt."
'What a little…'
As he watched his brother walk away, McKay let out a deep sigh and took the opposite path, a faint smile on his face. In the end, his brother was just as much of a joker as he was.
'I must be a great influence…' And then he remembered what had just happened.
His home was in the infamous District Zero, an urban area overrun by small monsters that the government claimed it couldn't eliminate. As a result of this neglect, gangs and criminal groups from all over used it as a hideout, turning the place into a living hell for anyone unfortunate enough to live there.
But for McKay, the district was great because the rent was dirt cheap. With his current job, he could support himself and still have money left over to help his family.
After walking for over an hour, McKay finally reached his apartment: a small space on the fourth floor of a building once inhabited by reptilian monsters. Aside from the strong lizard smell, it was comfortable, affordable, and even had hot water.
He climbed the stairs, greeting his neighbors with quick nods. In that area, that was the proper way to deal with strangers. Being too friendly was seen as weakness, and being hostile only attracted trouble, so he always struck a balance between politeness and distance.
When he finally reached his door, McKay stopped, touched the doorknob, but suddenly froze. A strange smell hit his nose—a disgusting mix of rust and rotting meat. His apartment was modest, and everything in it, including the furniture, was old, but nothing justified such a foul odor. McKay fought the urge to vomit, then felt a slight dizziness, as if the air itself was weakening his lungs.
McKay took a step back, trying to be silent, but his balance was already compromised, and he stumbled over his own feet. A loud thud echoed through the empty hallway, amplified by the oppressive silence. His eyes widened, and he turned to run. McKay got up and moved toward the stairs, but after two steps, his legs simply gave out. His body hit the floor with a loud impact, and a sharp pain exploded in his nose, which started bleeding. His vision darkened for a moment, as if the shadows were creeping into his eyes.
Then, he felt it. Something cold and slimy wrapped around his left leg, slowly coiling like a snake securing its prey. It was icy like dead skin but pulsating, as if alive. The texture felt gelatinous yet solid, as if it were molding itself around his leg, immobilizing him and pulling him back toward the door. That damn putrid smell, once distant, was now so close it was suffocating, almost physical, as if it were entering his lungs and settling there.
McKay dug his fingers into the floor, trying to drag himself away from that thing, but his muscles wouldn't respond. His lungs burned, as if on fire, too weak to inhale the poisonous air. His body trembled uncontrollably, and his strength slipped away like water through his fingers. His heart, which had been pounding like a jackhammer, now faltered, beating irregularly, as if it were about to stop.
The apartment door creaked, slowly opening. From inside, a shadowy figure emerged, shrouded in a dense red mist that acted like a cloak to hide it. The shape resembled a human but was distorted, as if disfigured by something beyond comprehension. With every step it took, the floor around it corroded, as if the wood itself was rotting instantaneously.
McKay, with his face pressed to the floor, felt the rotten smell intensify, now so close it seemed to be inside him. His consciousness wavered, like a candle about to go out. But before he could pass out, the thing coiled around his leg contracted violently. A dry snap echoed through the hallway, followed by excruciating pain that shot up his leg like a wave of fire. His leg was broken—not in one place, but three. The bone had been crushed as if it were made of glass.
McKay tried to scream, but no sound came out. All he managed was a hoarse groan, muffled by the agony consuming his body. He writhed on the floor, his hands clawing at the empty air, while a single tear slowly rolled down his face. The last thing he saw, before his vision completely darkened, was the figure approaching through the red mist, like a predator about to devour its prey. A demonic smile was visible, its teeth glowing yellow within the crimson haze.