//------------------------------// // Preston hotel // Story: Condemned: Fluttering hope // by Amadeus cancer //------------------------------// SCU headquarters, home of Metro city’s finest. Ethan grunted, its pristine form and demanding presence hadn’t changed one bit since his rookie years, at least on the outside that is. Now all he wanted to do was pretend the building didn’t even exist, if not drive a car through the front door just to spite the unit’s director. Leaving the car behind, he followed Rosa and Dorland up the stairs and inside until they were greeted by a dim lit lobby chalked full of officers and detectives. It was basically standard practice at this point to ignore the stares and gasps upon his arrival, many rookies, and veterans alike almost certainly well-informed of the story regarding the infamous ‘cop killer Ethan Thomas’. To think he’d once considered this place a station of justice made his already sandy mouth want to gag. Giving into Rosa’s plea was seeming less than ideal already. Eventually the trio made it to the escalator, Dorland impatiently ushering a couple secretaries out so they could take their place. The agent brushed off Rosa’s scrutiny as he thumbed the button for the third floor, automatic doors closing leaving them in a ridged silence. Fine by Ethan, if anything quietness was doing wonders for his bleeding scalp, that hooded bastard from the alleyway hit harder then he realized. Trying to take his mind of the pain he glanced around the suffocating metal box, hoping to find some sort of temporary distraction before his thinned mentality snapped like a rubber band. Standing behind the two current operatives, to his left he could see a single solitary flyer posted on the wall in yellow, dedicating a memorial to two other field agents he’d never seen before: Agent Pennington and agent Miller. Two more officers brought down by the filth lining the streets of this city, no doubt just numbers in a spreadsheet to the eyes of the fat-asses working with the higher ups. He turned away bitterly, on second thought perhaps suffering his headache without distraction was better. As the elevator announced their stop, he wordlessly stepped into the office floor as they simultaneously marched towards the director’s headquarters. Truth be told every waking cell in his body despised the notion of coming face to face with his old boss, provided that he didn’t throttle the elderly backstabber upon first sight. Whatever problem Vanhorn had gotten himself stuck in shouldn’t be his to deal with, if anything that fucker deserved a good beating. What was he doing here again? Hopefully that question would be answered soon as Dorland yanked open the entrance and stood by for them to enter, Rosa also walking in a ways before standing to the side to clear room for Ethan and the top dog. He also brushed off her warning glance at him, ever the peace maker in dire situations. Director Ike Farrell sat expectingly behind his desk, files upon files of papers neatly stacked on his desk either beside him or under folded hands. Ethan refused to acknowledge the director’s rewarding medals and ranks decoratively plastered behind him to further exploit his ego. “Good evening Agent Thomas. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Farrell’s hoarse voice cut through his temper like a hot knife in butter, yep, really regretting this decision. “I’m not an agent anymore Farrell.” Ethan ground out, ignoring Rosa’s wordless look of scrutiny. “You saw to that.” The grim look on the director’s face hadn’t changed, glaring down at his desk with a sully expression he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Yes well, I agree your discharge could have been handled more properly-“ Ethan sighed. “Enough, why am I here?” Luckily his interruption sparked something out of Farrell, who readjusted himself rather quickly to get to the matter at hand. As though the apology he was in the middle of sending was too fake to continue anyways. “I’m safe to assume agent Rosa has provided you with the recording of what you believe to be Malcom Vanhorn’s?” “That’s correct.” Farrell nodded, leaning back in his chair whilst clearly in thought. “Agent Rosa retrieved the message 10:36AM this morning, although the caller had not managed to explain the situation nor his location, our trackers managed to find the contact’s phone. It’s somewhere in the eastern part of Metro City, a rundown building once known as Preston Hotel.” Ethan furrowed his brow in suspicion. “Again, what part do I have to play in this?” Farrell opened his mouth to speak, but a voice behind all of them interrupted his words. “Because earlier during the call Vanhorn asked specifically for you. It’s no secret you two were close in some way, especially what happened before your suspension.” If looks could kill Dorland would be twenty feet under, the burly agent matching Ethan’s hateful glare with his own. Farrell impatiently clearing his throat brought attention back to him even if temporary, as he sat up straighter and gestured to Ethan. “Agent… Mr. Thomas, I’ve called you back because Malcom Vanhorn is a civilian of the city and in need of our assistance. Given his reasons Vanhorn kept a tight circle of people he was open with information wise. We were hoping that you’d help us retrieve him from the hotel or if not, provide us with clues as to where or what he might be planning.” Folding his arms Ethan glared down at Farrell in distain both scenarios replaying in his head. On one hand he really could go for another drink, and every minute he wasted in this vile dump meant less relief against the nauseous acid boiling inside his chest. On the other hand, finding Vanhorn meant getting answers to questions that’d long rotted away at his brain during his past eleven months wasting away in the gutters, dead end after dead end perpetually stranding him in an endless loop of desperate confusion and grief. Malcom had all but abandoned him after their final confrontation regarding the old man’s nephew. “Fine, but I’m going in alone.” ____ Their helicopter hovered overhead a couple meters as they descended to the hotel’s rooftop. Its overhead sign somehow still brightened with neon light flickering, lighting up the backside allowing Ethan and his teammates a decent view of their surroundings. Unhooking the line from his belt, the ex-agent checked his rifle once more before sourly trudging away from the two men following from the copter. As Dorland and the other new agent checked themselves he found himself gazing up at the cloudy sky, noise from their transport mixed with Dorland’s irritating voice fading in the background while he watched snowflakes and feather-weight objects drifting in the wind. Something was wrong, he knew it, just not exactly what. It’d been nagging at him all night since the bar up until the chopper ride out of SCU. Not to say most days spent watching his city slowly eat its own innards each passing day was any more pleasant, however this was different. Like an even thicker blanket of hopelessness had decided to wrap around Metro city tonight, sealing itself in a cold grave. Something was said over the radio, he could barely hear Rosa speak through his observation until the pissy form of Dorland hogged half his view. The agent had barely expressed anything other than disdain and fuming silent treatments since Ethan’s arrival, another new agent with a chip on his shoulder and no one else to pour his steaming attitude over. Jabbing a finger in Ethan’s direction, Dorland spat in disgust. “Listen, you agreed to help us but if want to crawl back to your cardboard box that’s fine by me!” Fast friends indeed. “Back off.” Ethan grit through his teeth. The idiot didn’t seem to get the memo, pausing only a moment at the retort before waving his hand in the taller man’s face. “Then let’s get one thing straight Mr. Thomas, you’re here to help locate and identify Malcom Vanhorn nothing more. Understand?” The only thing stopping him from breaking the offending hand, currently in his face mind you, was the implication of Rosa griping at him after the mission was done. Farrell’s disapproval he could care less, but Rosa tended to not leave things stewing for long, it was like getting endlessly pecked at by a frustrated mother hen. “The hell’s your problem Dorland?” He sighed, the energy to keep conversation for any minute longer was fading fast. “You’re a drunk and a liability!” His ‘partner’ scoffed, turning heel to greet the third agent cocking his own gun. With all three of them huddled together the chopper pilot called them over the radio as the air bird began moving away from the hotel. “No signs of activity, good luck down there boys!” Once their form of transport flew out of sight, Rosa patched herself in. “Alright, we’re going from the top. Phone records indicate the call originated from within this area…” She began. “Of course it would be in the worst part of town.” Their third squad member, an agent who’d earlier introduced himself as LeRue during the ride, grumbled under his breath. “So what exactly are we looking for here Rosa?” “According to the message, a body, possibly two.” LeRue pinched the bridge of his nose, as if contemplating the idiocy if the overall vagueness of their limited info. “Got it, two sniffs more important than the hundreds of others found dead out here.” “Can it LeRue.” Dorland snapped in irritation. Le Rue shrugged in indignation, eyes rolled so far back they nearly pooped out of his head. “Just saying, shit’s fucked up in this city.” “That’s enough…” Dorland cocked his gun and jabbed another finger towards the agent and their surly accomplice. “…From here on out I’m the commanding leader of this squad. You both will do exactly as I say, when I say it. Nothing happens inside this hotel without me knowing, if there’s any objections, you can happily walk back to SCU on your own. Are we all clear.” Le Rue gave a half salute, Ethan raised an eyebrow but nonetheless nodded in understanding. That seemed enough for the commander, making a sign with his fingers to trail his behind. “Good, let’s move!” As the agent mad his way to the rooftop door, LeRue motioned for Ethan to go in front. When he refused instead LeRue simply shrugged and went after Dorland, although during their trek towards the door the third agent seemed more interested in conversing. “Cops call this place Needles Inn you know.” He called over his shoulder. “Speedballers jacked up on coke, heroin, and amphetamines rule this place. We’d best stay alert.” Oh he knew all about Preston Hotel, it once being a landmark for Metro City’s finest attractions for tourists. No one knew how or why the founders and police hand fed the hotel to the roaches, but that was long ago, now a squad car couldn’t take a drive down these roads without their finest firepower at the ready. What with the rioters getting more hostile by the numbering days. Apparently the door to the stairs was locked prompting their leader to blast the handle and kick through the aged wood. Hopefully the entire hotel hadn’t heard that. Flicking on their flashlights Ethan followed LeRue into the pitch black maw, cold outside air abruptly swapping for musty heat and horrendous chemicals burning his nose and eyes. “Let me remind you, unnecessary use of force will not be tolerated.” Dorland was really starting to get on his nerves with all of his nonstop blathering. On cue to their left a chair was knocked over as a humanoid figure obscured in the shadows bolted from a dark corner and scampered into a man-sized gap between the walls. Their instinctive defensive position too late to catch the unnamable person, however wielded back upon realizing the temporary audience’s identity. Like LeRue explained earlier homeless junkies inhabited this hotel with iron fists for years, threats would be barging in from every crack and crevasse to protect their nasty workshops from everyday crooks. No question what they’d do to a couple of government agents way in over their heads. Tension thickening to a threatening degree, the group silenced and made their way single file down the shoulder length hallway of the fourth floor. Actually cracks in the wall should’ve been put on a more broader spectrum, holes almost twice his body size opened through multiple rooms giving them a decent view of several still running meth labs. Through the silence he could hear the sounds of footsteps echoing from all over the building like scattering rodents running from a home owner, making it completely indecipherable whether they were coming from the floors below or right in the next room. “Where are we heading Dorland?” LeRue hushed. “We can’t scour this entire building all night, we need a target location.” Their commander seemed to mull over the question in his head, gears visibly turning before something clicked. “The elevators. That’ll be our protocol rendezvous point for now.” No sooner had he given the command when they turned a sharp corner into another hallway of which the ceiling had caved in, carving a hole straight down to the bottom level and ending their route on a dime. LeRue and Dorland cursed under their breathes, however Thomas quietly moved pushed into an open room with its door ripped off its hinges. From inside he could see a massive tear in the wall between where it dropped to an unknown destination. “Through here.” He spoke quietly, signaling them to follow as he stepped towards the gaping maw of metal pipes and wooden beams. Peering below Ethan saw the inner makings of a bathtub and crushed tiles one floor down, the debris pile littering the floor large enough to form a soft landing. Against quiet objection Ethan jumped before the others caught up, ceramic chunks breaking into smaller shards under his weight as he easily maneuvered through the destroyed bathroom and out the door. This was getting too easy, surely some addict hiding in this forsaken building would’ve found them by now. It was just too quiet for his liking. Even the more seedier parts of Metro city you could hear the more unhinged of the homeless muttering to themselves time to time. Preston Hotel was as silent as a grave tonight, and that rang more alarm bells then he’d felt comfortable with. In no time they’d reached the third level elevators, Dorland in the middle of radioing for Rosa as LeRue and Thomas kept watch across two open entryways. Something caught their leader’s attention, who shined his light into Ethan’s face whilst growling under his breath. “Mr. Thomas, survey the east side of the floor, LeRue and I will guard the elevator until you’re done.” He scoffed, glaring at the other man with slight annoyance before briskly pushing past his commander down the corridor. Light from outside windows helped aid his vision through the shadows as he followed the curving walls, creaking floorboards threatening to cave against his shoes. Room after room more desolate than the previous, when he was certain nobody was nearby he pulled out a rectangular box from his back pocket. A nifty device so graciously given back to him by SCU, the Field Kit: Capable of three different usages, including a camera, UV light, GPS, and Spectrometer. Flashes of blue ignited on the device’s main screen as Rosa’s face appeared on the top right corner, sitting patiently at her desk while greeting him with a smile. “All right Ethan, I’ve uploaded your field kit with all we know so far. So let’s get started.” Placing his back to the inner walls he motioned for his partner to continue, ID shots of Vanhorn appearing on his screen along with a soundboard. “There were two gunshots heard in the recording, suggesting that we may be looking for two bodies, one being Vanhorn, the other a metro police officer. Signature overlays indicate both shots came from the same weapon: A .38 caliber handgun.” Two bodies, great. “Any officers reported in the area during the time of the call?” He questioned as a sound coming from somewhere towards the end of the corridor caught his attention, slowly raising the loaded rifle while the woman on the other end hummed in acknowledgement. “We’ve actually been informed that a Metro officer, Dennis Black, is no longer responding to anyone. Find him, he may need assistance.” A stranded television set in the middle of the floor burst to life with erratic static, before the glass popped out of its socket spraying the ground in shards. He heard a scurrying sound from a room in front. “All right, now for the second point of interest. While reviewing the recording I came across a distant rumbling noise in the background. It was faint, but when I cross-referenced the sample to known sources, I was able to narrow it down to a passing commuter train.” He narrowed his eyes in the lightless room, where even the moon shining through the windows wasn’t bright enough to illuminate its hollowed place. “Is there a commuter train that passes by the hotel?” He questioned. A moment of silence from her was all Ethan needed to listen to a manic chuckle erupt from inside a wardrobe closet. “Yes, Metro Transit Rail passes by the North wing, narrow your search to that area.” Sound advice, he’d need to inform the rest of the team after he was done with the half-naked, shrieking banshee of a man exploding from the closed closet doors, glinting syringe in hand aimed straight for Ethan’s jugular. Whipping his rifle up he let off a couple rounds, several shots landing into the lunatic’s shoulder spraying blood all over the room. Reeling back in agony, the bum’s ruined strike caused him to harmlessly slam full bodied into the former agent nearly sending them both to the floor. However, Ethan was quickly able to overcome his added weight and instead shoved his enemy away who fell limply on the carpet. With a squeak the marred bum tried to stand for a second strike only to be met point blank with a heavy rifle bullet. As his enemy dropped more thunderous footsteps caused him to aim his gun at the worried expression of LeRue poking his head through the door. The fellow agent surveyed the scene before him, noticing the dead killer at Thomas’ feet before nodding in approval. “Heard the whole thing.” LeRue spoke as he waved Ethan to follow behind, both hastily ushering back to the elevators. “Dorland said he’s got an idea on how to get to the hotel lobby.” No sooner had they turned the corner he saw the agent of the hour with his back turned towards the two, steadily prying open the mechanical double doors. “And what the hell are you planning on doing?” Ethan snapped. Dorland growled without facing the other man. “Taking a short cut, now step back!” His demand satiated, the agent slammed open the doors, allowing the group to see a metal ladder hanging on the wall where it would be behind the elevator. Unfortunately the ladder only went down halfway to the second level. “I’ll go first, LeRue will bring up the rear.” Leaving no room for debate, Dorland leapt over the gap and latched onto the ladder, sliding down with ease until stopping next to what Ethan presumed was the opening of the unseen elevator entryway right below them, as his fellow agent disappeared upon jumping into said opening. “Your turn Mr. Thomas.” Even with the static his radio did nothing to hide the sheer amount of distain within Dorland’s tone. Behind him LeRue groused in exasperation. “What the hell is it with this asshole?” Ethan merely spat, standing at the ledge of the opening. “Just another one of Farrell’s finest, don’t act too surprised.” Taking a calculated step back he bolted towards the open doors and heaved himself over the seven-inch chasm, slamming into the ladder causing it to rattle. Hands and feet positioned at the sides he slid downward until reaching his destination, not needing to turn in order to see Dorland’s scornful glare from behind, the looming shadow covering his backside just as threatening were the other man facing him eye to eye. He doesn’t realize the ladder’s aged hinges have snapped off until he’s sent careening down a pitch-black shaft until bashing into soggy ground with a sickening thud, wind knocking clear from bruised lungs before he’s twisting to the side in avoidance of the falling ladder so it won’t puncture his ribcage. “Are you hurt? Did you break anything?!” Dorland almost sounded sincere. *Cough* “No, I’m good!” Ethan shouted clutching his side. Creaks from high above make his blood run cold, metal on metal bending and scraping against one another as LeRue’s panicked voice echoes on the radio. “Shit, we’ve got a problem. Looks like the elevator’s ‘bout to come down!” Too late, the giant mass of metal was already on its way down in record pace, adrenaline spiking Ethan yanked open the first-floor double doors with all his might and dived out just before the elevator came crashing on his head. Huffing a breath of relief, he quickly got to his feet to survey the damage. The elevator had completely trashed the entrance, crushing both doors under its butt and leaving no room to crawl back inside. “Mr. Thom….respo…” His radio crackled with static, voice on the other side crackly and warbly as if it were underwater. He pressed the button on its side and ground out, trying to keep his own voice to a minimum with the familiar sensation of being watched returning. “I’m here, elevators trashed but I managed to land on the first floor. Hello? Dorland respond!” “……sign of Eth…” “Neg…these old…..shit on recep….” That first voice belonged to Rosa. He clicked the button again, trying to get their attention. Although it appeared as though they weren’t getting his feedback. “…Mr. Tho….us….Hot…Lobby…..“ ‘Lobby’? Good enough for him. Looks as though LeRue would have to find a different way. Meanwhile Ethan had an arguably more tasking problem. Glass shattered in some unknown corner of the hotel he couldn’t see and human voices not belonging to either of his partners started yelling from behind paper thin walls, towards whom he’d yet to find out. To make matters worse he now realized his prized weapon was no longer in his hands, undoubtedly smothered under the mass that’d almost killed him seconds ago. Shining his flashlight Ethan scanned the area around him, stopping at an arrow decorated on a corner wall marked with shredded words indicating in bold: Hotel Dining/Front Exit. Looks as though a hint of luck had finally been granted for once during this fucked up night. Careful to ease his steps he tip-toed away from the escalators and into a short room which was halfway cut across by a crystal wall. On the other side of the glass, rows of many tables with chairs stacked atop stood broadly across the room, until he could make out the exit door far on the adjacent side. Only issue was there was no way he could get into the dining room without smashing through its thickened glass barrier. That was util he saw an entrance to the diner coming from the parallel hallway on his right, although it was chalked full of furniture blocking most of the pathway, already he could make out the open door entering the dining area awaiting him. No sooner had he entered the hallway, his senses were full on assaulted by a high-pitched ringing that cut through the air. Holding back an agonized scream Ethan covered both sides of his head as his vision swam, swaying side to side as the ear piercing sound continued. Almost as a response, something burst from another room adjacent to the diner door followed by animalistic growling and unbridled fury. With an overhead lamp showcasing the hallway for all its filthy chemical-stained glory, into the light stepped in a burly hulk of a man, bigger then most of the addicts he’d encountered throughout his time as an officer. The newcomer screamed upon facing Ethan overturning a chair and shoving aside a bookshelf twice the goon’s size before bull rushing him in maniac fashion. Ducking in time to avoid a mammoth fist aimed for his neck Ethan shouldered the gorilla in the ribs as he desperately tried to get a hold of his damaged senses. Raising his forearms to block an oncoming blow, he delivered a quick uppercut to the massive goon’s bottom jaw then followed by kicking a knee tripping the other off balance. Ethan parried another sloppy swing in order to box the addict straight in the nose, an ugly crack indicating he’d broken it. With his enemy off balance he prepared another strike aimed towards the enemy’s exposed throat, only to be caught off guard by the homeless man’s hasteful recovery, rushing straight into the agent at full speed. His weight twice that of Ethan’s, the former officer was yanked off his own feet and eventually sandwiched into a thick wooden pillar, vision too hazy to resist a meaty hand snatching a fistful of his shirt and tossing him like a ragdoll into an open kitchen. Stopping only when met with an unmoving concrete island, he coughed out the fire from within his lungs while shakily positioning himself up in a defensive stance as the rabid madman was upon him in seconds fist raised high over his shoulders. Leaping away from the hit, the crashing of smashed glass cups and porcelain dinner plates into pieces ringing almost as loud as that damned ringing, he back peddled until stumbling into a chest high food tray. The sound was unbearable now, he could barely see let alone think of anything other than fighting the instinct to tear out his own ears. Unlike him through, instead of causing visible pain the vocal noise shredding the air apart seemed to further enrage the burly thug in front of him to point where he started screaming in a tone you’d expect from a rabid pit bull. Large arms flailed wildly in the air breaking overhead lights, knocking over shelves, and countless continents still standing after years of neglect. Despite the limitation to his vision Ethan didn’t need much to understand the severity of the situation. Whatever life this man had, whoever he was before, was now only a memory. The person standing before Ethan was a mere shell of his former self, hollowed of what little humanity and self-consciousness he’d been gifted, replaced with a foaming mindless killing machine attacking anything it set its sights on. This wasn’t any type of drug, not some mental illness to be treated, no this was something else. Something that’d held Metro City in a chokehold and refused to let go, something everyone just. Kept. Fucking. Ignoring. Steeling himself through his blurry vision Ethan could barely make out a palm sized object to his left on the counter. Grabbing it by the handle he soldiered past the pain hammering away at his skull and marched towards the babbling lunatic too fixated in his mindless ranting to defend against a hand roughly grabbing him by one of his shoulders and connecting with a metal frying pan. Sputtering, the bloodthirsty thug tried to bring a chained wrist towards Ethan yet was halted by another whack of the pot on the backside of his cranium and then again on the cheek. Voice garbled with blood and broken teeth the lunatic struggled to back away. The skillet in his hand no longer felt useful, so Ethan discarded it without thought using both palms to shove the flailing enemy with all his might. In return the thug sailed into the other side of the kitchen, crashing through the weak wall easily and overturning a hidden meth table exposed from his trip. Cylinders and liquid spilling over the floor/shirtless goon, his enemy quickly got back on his feet grasping desperately at his deeply injured face while glaring at Ethan through his fingers. The ex-agent prepared for the oncoming fight, shocked by the thug’s decision to retreat beyond the broken walls. He tried breathing to ease the pain etching across his ribs and torso, yet that fucking ringing was making it impossible to relax fully. Must’ve been somewhere close to the innards of this forsaken hotel, hopefully he’d find it soon. Staggering out of the kitchen, back through the hallway, and into the diner he fastened his pace to the exit. He wanted this nightmare to end and get a simple drink. A simple mercy the universe apparently held a grudge against, because no sooner had he’d opened the outside door, welcoming wintery fresh air, sounds of gunshots and roaring shouts rung out from the obscured front of the barricaded hotel. He couldn’t see anyone but the amount of visible limp bodies littering the ground like fucked up lawn gnomes indicated why most of the hotel had been near actionless for the past half hour. Making his way up a small set of stairs leading to what once was a peaceful outer backyard, he followed the brick wall curving around the side of Preston Hotel towards the front door beyond a corner. And wouldn’t you know it, standing right above the wall up front was the one and only Metro Transit Rail, empty and devoid of any vessels. He was heading in the right direction. Stepping over a fallen man in his way, Ethan stopped when his eyes located an object of interest. A handgun, half obscured underneath the mutilated body’s torso. Reaching down to yank it from its previous owner he instinctively tensed upon a shotgun shell slamming into the brick wall next to him, ducking and aiming for the offender. However the shot must’ve been miscalculated as a punk holding a sawed-off shotgun was busy scraping with another rioter in a Halloween mask, struggling in a game of tug-of-war. Behind them three more stooges were trying to gang up on a bum carrying a submachine, who had already downed one of his attackers as the other two took their ally’s sacrifice as a chance to pummel him to a pulp. He could try and wade through the chaos, as long as none of them deemed him a threat he’d be left alone to enter the hotel lobby. Unfortunately Metro City rioters never left survivors, anything in sight was a target no matter the situation. Stomping towards the group of maniacs he raised his handgun and fired, exploding the original shotgun carrier’s temple which surprised the offending thief, who failed in picking up the dropping weapon. Big mistake, as he was met with a round of shells into his kidney and cheekbone. Holstering the .45 he grabbed the fallen shotgun and marched to the rest of the goons. Whoever it was owning the submachine was nothing but a stain now, the other two former partners now tearing for each other’s eyes for position of the weapon. He managed to hit the one on the right, causing Mr. pig mask to stagger in response to the bullet shrapnel. Unfortunate that a sawed-off shotgun was only useful for one hit without backup ammo, of which he was severely lacking. He clenched his jaw from an oncoming fist, using the thug’s own momentum to shove him into a stumble, too distracted to block the shotgun’s handle bashing his forehead. Pulling out his handgun Ethan wasted no time, hitting right between the eyes turning his face into a fine mist. As the near headless body slumped against the brick wall, Ethan griped rubbing a bruised jawline. “Fucking final-” WHACK! He let out a cry of pain as his shoulder blades were met with a shovel top, looking behind in time to dodge another swing from the bum who’d snuck up on him. Turning around he sent a fist into the feverish man’s chest, parrying a second strike, catching the shovel handle under his armpit, and booting his enemy until the weapon was out of the other’s grasp. Charging forward he twisted the shovel handle until it was pressed firmly against the bums throat who’s resistance became stunted at the increased pressure working against his oxygen. This allowed the ex-agent to puppet the other man’s body until he tripped over his own feet, chest facing downwards on the hotel’s front raised tree bed. Lifting a boot just as the bum was attempting to rise, he shoved his foot down on the nameless man’s back, arms caving under the force and chin meeting with the stone bed. An audible crunch resonated from the thug’s misshaped neck and life evaporated from his body. Panting clouds of smoke from the chilled air, he surveyed his work before glancing at the entire front lot of the hotel. Looks as though he was late to the party, many more nameless thugs were crumpled all over, a clear sign this whole mess had taken place only moments ago. He was ready to enter the double doors only to stop, a familiar sound catching his ear. Scowling he glanced back at the guarded brick wall concealing his viewpoint of the street beyond, however the faded sounds of more people screaming possibly beyond the towering buildings before him gave an inkling of what horror was about to occur. Rioters, a whole horde of them. People who appeared out of the darkest corners and crevasses of the city simply for the sole purpose of ripping one another apart. At worse all of MCPD and SCU combined needed to step in for control, however luckily those instances were far and few between. Didn’t mean the more “tamer” riots were any less of a massacre. When the riot reached them they’d be surely and truly fucked. (It was never if, but of when.) All more reason to get this over and done. Walking up the path to the lobby he winced once that damned ringing tuned in with a harsh resurgence, as though he were right on top of it… He hadn’t the leisure to fully realize nor care for the lifeless body which dropped on the stairs beside him. Only after a curious whispering inside his head, wordless demands forcing him to stare upwards to finally see the instrument, or perhaps more accurately one such instrument, behind his suffering. A brownish-silver disk hanging off the second story rattling as various soundwaves echoed from its speaker. Three rounds was all that was needed to break the device into chunks, each useless pieces raining on him with the sound ceased. Again, only from that particular disk, as he could very clearly hear more ringing coming from deep inside the building even at this position. How is it they didn’t hear this earlier, why now? Was he close to something someone didn’t want him poking his nose in? Well tough shit for them. He slammed through the front doors into the messy lobby, ignoring the amount of bodies counting more than hotel furniture as he scanned for any signs of life. “Search team be advised that a surge of riot activity has been reported in your area and is heading for your area.” Rosa’s voice, now not so garbled, nearly gave him a heart attack before clicking onto the respond button, though he held back a retort on knowing that particular info ahead of time. “Copy that Rosa.” He sighed. “Mr. Thomas. Where is your current-” Dorland’s exasperated tone cut into the radio yet was interrupted by Ethan’s own. “Stop worrying, I’m in the main lobby.” The silence gave him a moment to scout around for more inclinations of their intended target, pushing over torn tables and inspecting corpses. Freaks these days had a nasty habit of replacing dead officers’ clothes for their own in order to catch said victims’ former allies off guard. The left side of the lobby was blocked by racks and luggage carriers, unchecked, and lit up by a single bulb. It wasn’t too much of a pile up as the other various lobby exits, with a couple yanks he’d managed to pull aside one of the carriers crammed against the reception desk. From there he easily recognized the uniformed heap lying right underneath the light, blood pooling around the dead man’s body. Stepping out of the small narrow space he knelt towards the lifeless form for examination, careful not to touch it. The bullet exit wound oozing from between the cop’s shoulder blades was clear as day. “Rosa, come in. I think I’ve found Officer Black.” “Alright, can you make out the badge number?” Peering at a blood covered badge on the right arm he replied. “46.” “That’s him alright.” Rosa confirmed in sympathy. “I’ll notify MPD, according to dispatch he’s been missing for almost two days now. Can you determine the cause of death?” “Bullet wound. Directory’s straight through his chest. He bled out most likely.” Ethan confirmed, looking away from the cop’s glassy eyes and turning towards the trail of blood tailing behind the body leading into an open hall. “Affirmative. Poor guy, is there signs the body’s been moved, is this the crime scene?” Leaving the fallen officer, Ethan pushed aside a plush couch as shadows covered the stained trail. Pulling out his Field Kit he switched through various settings until coming across his desired tool, the rectangular box illuminating a purplish fixture that revealed multiple unseeable chemical blemishes lining the carpet floor. Although his main interest was the consistent line trailing across the floor marked in dragging handprints, undoubtedly left behind from their victim. “Black crawled his way into the lobby, I’m pursuing after his trail. Maybe that’ll lead me to the crime scene.” “Roger that.” Once again the area was suffocated in a heavy cloud of obscurity and nasty mixed smells, the trail curved alongside the many obstacles in his path, even maneuvering through a makeshift hole into what once was a fancy hotel room in order to pass by a toppled desk too heavy for even Ethan to lift on his own accord. Inside one of the destroyed rooms he witnessed what was initially suspected to be another corpse spring back to life and shuffle madly from sight upon Ethan’s arrival. Entering and exiting the makeshift pathway he winced from the sharp ringing buzzing from somewhere in the floor above momentarily stunting his attention. Static crackled on his radio as he followed the UV spotlight into a destroyed laundry area. “Jesus, is that… what is that?!” Dorland’s tone held a hint of pure disgust and bewilderment, though it was clear he wasn’t talking to Ethan. “Well… It’s a body, but it ain’t Vanhorn’s” LeRue determined obviously just as bothered by whatever unholy sight this fucked place had granted them. “Keep moving then.” “Didn’t think meth could do that to somebody.” “I don’t think it’s just the meth…” “The fuck IS this shit then?” “Who cares, stick to the mission!” Just as he noticed the trail leading to an unknown open door, two pairs of needle thin arms wrapped around Ethan’s neck and pulled him in a chokehold, him dropping his device in surprise before backing into a corner wall desperate to shake the clinging lunatic off. A final hard slam into a washing machine loosened his attacker’s grip granting him time to elbow the punk before shoulder tossing him off. Seeing his enemy in full, perhaps ‘man’ should’ve been used in lighter term, as the near stark naked addict crawling back into a pathetic fighting stance bore an appearance of a dehydrated skeleton. Jabbering an incoherent mess from his hideously pussed face, he flailed another one of those hidden chemical syringes in a wide stance, a hand grabbing the burlier man by his hair and aiming it for an eye. Unfortunately the ex-agent held years of experience dealing with these kinds of cracked up monkeys, an expertly placed headbutt into the addict’s nose and a quick yank at the opposing weapon and the syringe was his. “Come here you ugly sack of-” Clutching his enemy’s head in a vice he rammed the needle deep into the punk’s eye socket, who shrieked in pain. Clawing away from the bigger man his enemy scrambled, holding his punctured eye socket whilst ping-ponging across the corridor in full retreat. He didn’t need to watch him go to understand the maniac’s intentions, just as easily returning to the task at hand retrieving his fallen equipment and entering an employee room which surprisingly help its own small elevator. What caught his attention was the massive splatter of blood staining the floor, but there wasn’t a body nearby that it could have come from. In fact, Dennis’s trail was leading away from it. A hole above said splatter helped piece the clues. “The blood splatter fans outwards, so the victim must’ve dropped from the floor above.” Ethan mumbled to himself. With the elevator no doubt just as trustworthy as the last, he forced open the double doors and found a ladder obscure to his left. “Rosa, I’m proceeding to the second floor.” “Are you on to something?” “Possibly.” “Copy that, watch your back.” Despite the severity of the situation she sounded rather hopeful. Under better conditions he’d find himself smirking, Rosa still had the same convictions and heart for Metro’s future after everything that’d happened in the recent months. Too bad she was stuck following under the thumbs of a bunch of bastards probably leading her into circle after circle. Once he’d entered the opening to the second floor and shimmied past the hole, he heard the distinct sounds of toppling doors and a crowd of screaming enter from the floor underneath. That could only mean one thing. “Rosa! We’re hearing multiple gunshots coming from the floor under us, what the hell is going on down there?!” “Satellite imaging shows that rioters have entered the building.” “Damn it, we’ll need an air evac once the victim has been located.” “Copy that, transport is on standby.” For his part Ethan said nothing, listening to the numerous voices below muffled from the wood and concrete separating the floors as he continued following the trail. ____________ Tuns out most of the hotel occupants weren’t too happy with their stolen home being overrun by an unstoppable wave of rioters. Having run into three to four more homeless addicts by simply following Dennis’s blood trail was getting taxing. Nothing he couldn’t handle per say, but with their newfound courage/reasoning for finally removing themselves from their hiding holes definitely put an even more dangerous tone to his surroundings. His pistol had run its short ammo dry faster than he’d desired, forcing himself to discard it after bludgeoning another lunatic to death with the thereby useless hunk of metal. Now holding a weak metal pipe found poking through the carpet floor, his grip tightened on the weapon as the boards creaked under his shoes. Noise from downstairs hadn’t ceased with time, if anything it sounded as if the bloodthirsty crowd of rioters were steadily gaining in numbers. He’d known Malcom Vanhorn to be crafty and good at escaping dire situations, however considering the old man’s abnormally terrified voice from that recording this certainly didn’t tip any odds in his favor. Just what did Vanhorn do to call him out of the blue like this? Eleven months since abandoning him near that fucking barn, no word or contact since, and suddenly the old man expected him to come dashing to his rescue whenever he was in a rut? Fuck this, he shouldn’t be here. Leave Malcom to his fate, he deserved whatever was coming to him. ETHAN. WAKE UP. He nearly got whiplash turning around so fast, pipe raised, and flashlight aimed for whoever had the gall to breathe right in his ear. For a second he could swear he saw movement in the corners of his eye, something moving up the walls and into the ceiling faster than he had to react, misshapen forms darker than the shadows themselves scurrying out of sight with white eyes glaring in predatory hunger. It took one blink, and they were gone, leaving only a barren hallway behind. Dragging a bandaged hand across his face he held in a groan from the familiar drumming inside his head before turning his back. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. Static swam in the air cutting off any other noise as that high pitched buzzing broke out again, the strength so volatile he clenched his fists until fingernails punctured through skin. Keeping his eyes open he forced himself forward, curving around a corner and stopping once taking a moment to recuperate. Christ it felt so close he couldn’t tell if it was that disk that was ringing or his own abused ears taking it in. Backing against the wall he faced the right side clutching his aching temples, the new viewpoint showing him a closed bedroom door that seemed to be…shuddering? Ignoring the increased pain once uncovering his ears, he brought a boot up and connected it with the wooden barrier, hard. it didn’t budge. Tightening his jaw Ethan tried again with even more force, the door still not moving, and pain spiked down his leg. Shit, it was blocked! An explosion of drywall, splintered beams, and hulking muscle came from his left, initial shock earning him a hefty brass knuckled punch which sent him down instantly. The bellow above him was accompanied by a beefy body with its body turned to the light darkening his front, he was lucky to catch the lifting foot poised dangerously over Ethan’s chest ready to slam downward with earth shattering force. Dodging until he was side facing the mossy wall he tried getting back up when the offenders two hands grasped his side and hoisted him five feet up before tossing his body like it were nothing but a flimsy chew toy through the newly made hole into the closed bedroom were that damned humming device made its home. Coughing out a lungful of scratchy dust and sharp debris he placed a hand on his knee to squint at both the form crawling back through its self-made hole after him and where he predicted that disk was. His metal pipe was gone, probably still out in the hall somewhere after the cheap shot. He tried blocking the hit not having the luxury of seeing the shoeless foot stomping on his head pressuring it on the ground. Whoever this was, they were loud and really fucking heavy, if the disk’s noise didn’t kill him sooner, this monster’s heel would. What a waste, all this time trying to find out the culprits of Metro’s rioting problems, his backside a target for stabbing, blood and sweat spent wallowing in those grime filled bars until finally having some slice of a silver lining come in the form of Malcom’s idiocy only for him to die here before he even found the old man. As the horrific thought began to sink in, he felt something snap. Humiliation mixed with an underlying boiling point of rage that’d been suppressed for months, burning fury he knew if he’d lose control of, there’d be no telling what he’d do. And right now he was finding this scenario to be truly testing each molecule of abstinence possible, a distinct cloud of fog webbing over his mentality and covering his eyes like a protective seal. The sensations, pain, betrayal, untethered fury threatening to break through his mental barrier were nigh too much to steady and in one swift motion he’d rocketed his chest off the floor. His trajectory sent the large nameless enemy flying onto his own backside in disbelief, as the ex-agent refused to let neither the ringing device or attacker gain the upper hand again he stomped over to grab what felt like a collar bone and a fistful of greasy hair and heaved it high. Adrenaline surging he took the opposing kicks and scratches with disregard while lifting the fallen enemy head up as they neared the shrieking device obscured in shadows. Bringing his quarry in a propped position he interrupted the thug’s mid-sentence garble of a plea by thrusting it into the direction Ethan was certain would make its mark. With an ungodly combination of crunching bone and metal, that agonizing sound vaporized from the air just as fast as it came, a fleeting sensation of bliss for his splitting headache before the second irritation decided to rear back its ugly face. Parrying another swipe he dive into the crook’s stomach sailing them both back out into the lightened hall, the bum’s back hitting the opposite side in air puncturing force then shoving Ethan off. Both men collapsed under their feet, the nameless bum continuing to jabber incoherent profanities and Ethan rolling to his side in order to sit back up. When his fingers grazed familiar rustic material he thanked whatever God was watching for small favors and forced himself upright to meet the other. Now in a different stance he finally got a decent point of view at his arising adversary. It was that same mindless beefy gorilla who’d ambushed him near the kitchen his chin and right eye swollen shut, now pinpricked in metal/glass shards cutting through his ashen skin leaking blood everywhere. Not that it mattered, as the bum could only focus on the sane man in front of him, who he bore every inclination in his body to rip apart or die trying. Palms slamming the floor the thug once again rushed in a shoddy attempt to body slam, of which Ethan thrusted one of his arms outwards showering a previously unseen clump of miniature litter and trash into his enemy’s bloodshot eyes. The bum all but skid to a halt screaming at the sensitive feeling of dozens of unclean debris stabbing into his iris’s not prepared for a metal pipe to catch him in the nose. Foe distracted Ethan rushed behind to deliver a swift heel into the thug’s upper calf crumpling most of his frame until the back of his skull reached Ethan’s stomach. Clutching the metal pipe on both ends he rotated it over his enemy’s head lining it against the throat and pushed back. One knee jamming into the gargling brutes spinal cord proved enough of a sturdy hold as he began to choke the life out of the person below him. A technique proved more strenuous than he’d anticipated when the nameless brute regained his very own source of adrenaline and preceded to elbow and sway everyway imaginable to break free from the chokehold. Ethan growled trying to keep up with the other’s erratic movements yet was ultimately caught off guard by a shrill scream echoing off somewhere downstairs, however what truly made him falter was the fact that unlike the rest of the yowling roars of rage and mindless fury he’d been subjected to all night this one sounded different. Though muffled he could catch a distinct amount of despair and hysteria stemming from its origin, why did its speaker sound so young? Detecting the temporary lax in Ethan’s hold, his enemy quickly rammed both elbows into the other man’s crotch causing him to retreat from his tactic a couple steps in pain. Whipping around the madman extended an exhausted punch which was sidestepped easily and instead met with drywall causing a fist shaped gap to ruin its already unkept exterior. Vision going red at the patterned futility of his own unprofessionalism, the meaty bum yowled in unkept wrath, flinging himself like a pebble from a slingshot through the air. Thus he was purely unable to prevent one arm grabbing his wrist and another by his belt buckle, flipping him mid air and crashing to the floor. As the bum attempted to rise he was met by an offending metal pole resulting in him grabbing Ethan’s face with one palm. Struggling to pry the fingers from his vision, the ex-officer tried to swing again yet barely made a graze as the calloused arm gripped tightly around his face pushed him further away to provide room for another sit up. Leaving the hand wrapped around him alone he alternatively booted the criminal in the eyes, a distraction enabling him to remove the palm and propel the edge of the pipe into the side of his enemy’s neck. A disgusting squelching sound followed, and his face was practically slapped in accordance to a recuperating hand. Backing up Ethan raised his fists despite himself instantly understanding the damage, simply looking to see that the fight was done. The bum lay stomach up on the carpet, gurgling as he helplessly tried removing the rustic pipe jammed tightly into his neck. But it was all for not, choking on massive amounts blood and lack of oxygen gave him a merciful twenty seconds before his body slumped. That coppery stench was not unfamiliar, however that wasn’t to say Ethan took any delight in both smell and sight. Cracking his neck he relaxed himself, huffing when he tried breathing in deep only to be met with a surge of pain in his kidneys. Though the immediate threat was gone, this building was still a mine field, especially considering the rioters down below. Retrieving his fallen field kit he scanned over the fresh body, struggling to retract Black’s trail and deduce how far he’d still need to travel. And wouldn’t you know it, the trail actually ended. Beyond the bum’s corpse one door down he could see the trail lead to a closed off room. Limping over to his target, Ethan soon stood next to a closed wooden door marked with a welcoming exit splatter of a bullet. Crimson coloring its surface and telltale police cap lying crooked on a chair beside him gave plenty of evidence. “Rosa it’s me again, I’ve got more evidence.” Hopefully she wouldn’t notice the aching wheeze behind his tone. “Is it related to the victim you found earlier?” He picked up the hat for inspection, recognizing the seal on the cap before taking a closer look at the bullet hole. He could see the casing stuck inside its wood, their killer must’ve been right on top of Dennis to get a shot from this angle. Something hard shuffled under the lose pile of trash and papers at his feet, finding interest he bent downward and stuck a hand through its contents. Cold steel brushed his fingertips, and he pulled out the unseen gun. “I’ve got a gunshot exit splatter on the second floor, room 212. Blood’s not too fresh but old enough to fully sink into the wood. Also got our officer’s cap and handgun, I’d say this is evidence enough.” “Good work Thomas!” A far-off voice on the radio, LeRue, applauds in alleviation. Rosa continues. “If the killer shoots his first victim: Black, then seconds later shoots Vanhorn, Vanhorn’s body must be nearby, perhaps in an adjacent room!” Noting his newfound weapon his already loaded, Ethan grips in in his hand before scanning the door. Most of its locks have broken off and there was an ever-present silence coming from the room. Harshly thrusting his boot forward splinters and shrieks of shredded material echoed out as he stepped inside. It was like staring into a black hole, not a single light penetrated the shadowy room, the windows were so tightly boarded he’d bet even the sun couldn’t burn through. He knew it was quiet from standing outside but now that he had one foot in it was beginning to seep in just how underestimated that description was. The only miniscule sound he got in return was a petite whisper of suffocated air that’d been imprisoned in this tomb for who knows how long finally fleeing into the rest of the hallway. Thicker and coated in heavy copper, if this was where Malcom’s called him than by the looks of it his chances had taken a nose dive. “Vanhorn!” He called in agitation, stepping further into the room with his pistol aimed. No answer, he tried breathing through his mouth as the putrid smell of decay further interloped his sinuses. Kicking over what he’d guessed was small furniture he tried searching the room with his flash, finding it unsurprisingly stripped of any hotel esc appliances or bodies. “Malcom its me, Ethan! If your alive get your sorry ass out here now!” He took another accidental whiff, attempting to get use to the smell while approaching a blackened object on the right side of the room. The closet he was sure. However said whiff got him to stop in his tracks just as his hand grasped the closet knob, perking his nose again to confirm. The smell was stronger on the right side of the room. He thrusted open the closet door and shined his flashlight inside simply to determine there wasn’t anything of interest before peering at another closed door next to him. It must’ve been one of those entryways leading to a neighbor’s quarters, and the smell was coming from inside. He reached for the lock yet found nothing there, prompting him to gently push the handle less entry open and step into room 211. Ugh, it was putrid. He held back a gag crawling up and braced himself, instantly drawn to the bed sized divot shredded through the middle of the room, something alit in glowing orange. Preparing himself for the worst he peered over the hole and damn straight felt himself exhaling in astonishment. “Jesus.” Through absolutely blanketed in thickened blood, there was no doubt the corpse below him was none other than Vanhorn. Well, if you could even refer to it as a corpse anymore. Metal rebar had been thrust through the elderly man’s palms decoratively, blood-drawn eyeballs encircling both the body and walls around it, displaying Vanhorn as if he were some Goddamn cultish sacrifice. From his vantage point he could still get a clean view of the cut open stomach and various innards on display, from his trachea all the way down to the buckled brown trousers. Holding in a breath Ethan hopped down into the room, landing perfectly next to the body before standing up giving the room a once over. No area was untouched, drawn eyeballs glared at him in every direction all leading up to the magnum opus, a sentence scrawled that he’d none the respect of repeating. “Rosa…” Ethan had to hold back a gag. “…I’ve located Vanhorn. Although he’s not gonna be answering any questions anytime soon.” “Excellent! Good job Ethan.” “Mr. Thomas what’s your location?” Cue Dorland, he frowned glancing around for a source. Brushing by the body and skipping past the door over to the left side, his eyes eventually landed on a small receipt placed on a candlelit desk. That would explain all the Chinese boxes lying around. “I’m in room 119” “Copy that, we’re on our way. You’re not to touch anything until we arrive.” The order was heard but not acknowledged as he stepped back to the crime scene, glancing down at Malcom, an expression of unadulterated horror forever plastered on the elder’s face looking back, Ethan scowled. “Damn you. You didn’t deserve this but damn you to hell Malcom.” Who could have done this? Stupid question, Metro City was crawling with deranged serial killers like it was a breeding ground. The more important question is who precisely did the old man piss off to warrant his upside-down crucifixion in pleasing Satan? Most of the big-name killers who once plagued Metro, The Roadside Carver, Polaroid Killer, The Match Maker to label a select few were gone, all killed by a monster even bigger than them. Nowadays it was copycats or stab happy greenies trying and failing to make a name for themselves, however nothing to this degree. The only one he’d known his entire life to make this brutal of a murder was… No. No, he wouldn’t allow himself to fall into another paranoid delusion when he was already struggling with others. Ethan looked at the scrawled writing again, a sick twisted feeling knotting his stomach. He’d seen that fucker die with his own eyes, he’d been right there. Taking his eyes off the horrid sight he began searching for clues, hopefully the distraction would help stave his growing anxiety. The entryway was noticeably blocked by a couch, which on all accounts didn’t make any sense, if the killer wanted some ‘privacy’ to have the room to themselves that was at least possible, but the hole above was far too high and steep to climb out of again. The phone Vanhorn has used to call had long vanished, taken by his killer no doubt. “Ethan, in the meantime make sure to send me two pictures of the body, one of them a close up of the victim’s face.” Taking his field kit he angled the camera at the torso and snapped a quick photo, quickly leaning to snap another for the silently screaming face when his eyes stopped on one particular spot. Intestines and organs at this range was sadly something he’d been used to, but typically he’d only look as long as he needed to usually leaving the rest to the forensics team. However, he couldn’t help but slowly come to a realization that there was some form of inward divot in the chest area, as if there’d been a weight placed on the slimy portion. Did the killer sit in the stomach whilst doing his work, if so then there had to be… He removed the kit and unholstered his weapon whilst jumping up. Prints. There was a set of small shoe prints leading to the closed bathroom. Carefully easing his steps, Ethan pressed himself against the wooden frame holding his breath for a better chance at hearing any noise. And he did, it was incredibly hushed though, but he could make out a patterned commotion coming from inside. Not manic laughter or angry ranting of the sort no, it was crying. Lips pursed he steeled himself and yanked open the door, brushing past the sink and toilet to find the culprit sitting in the tub. They visibly jumped in response to his erupt entrance, puffy eyes full of an innocence the man hadn’t seen an age meeting his cold ones. It was a young girl, easily in her early twenties dressed in a dull yellow and brown, her entire backside absolutely drenched in blood. Some of it caked in the mop of pinkish hair possibly spray painted. Just catching sight of him made her look as though she were on the verge of a fatal heart attack quickly turning her gaze away and folding her head into her arms in a defensive position. Ethan Thomas had been in SCU longer than anyone could remember, a beat cop before too, he was fairly certain he’d know a killer when he saw one. She certainly didn’t fit the part, however that didn’t overrule the fact that she was a suspect. It was possible she’d hid in here to avoid the rioters, but the stain on her back arose skepticism, he’d need to take this with extreme caution. “Rosa…” He said, tuning in his radio. “…I’ve got a civilian.”