05:12 | N.P.U. Headquarters, Metro City
From the outside, it looked like nothing.
That was the point.
A mid-rise office block wedged between a parking structure and a courier depot, the kind of building you looked at and immediately forgot. Gray concrete. Tinted windows. A plaque by the door that said
METRO ADMINISTRATIVE SERVICES
—in the kind of font that discouraged questions. The sort of place that processed permits, maybe. Filed things in triplicate. Sent you home.
Nobody ever looked twice.
Adrian pressed his thumb to the scanner beside the unmarked side door. The panel blinked, green and the lock disengaged with a sound like a held breath being released.
Routine.
Same as every morning.
The lobby hit him first.
It was too big for what the building pretended to be from the outside, tall ceilinged and cold, the kind of space that swallowed sound. Black marble floors, polished enough to show you your own reflection looking tired. Recessed lighting that was doing its best. A security desk manned by two people who didn't smile because smiling wasn't in the contract.
And there, centered against the far wall like she owned the place:
Lady Justice.
Massive. Stone-carved. Blindfolded, scales in one hand, sword in the other. She'd been there longer than half the agents currently on payroll. Someone had installed her back when the NPU still believed in its own mythology.
Adrian passed her every morning without looking up.
Today he did.
Yeah, he thought. Real funny.
The operatives board ran along the left wall a narrow illuminated panel listing the NPU's active top-tier field agents. No photos. Just names, status indicators, current assignment codes.
His was the only one with a green light.
Everyone else: standby, inactive, or the quiet gray of reassigned.
Good morning to me.
He bypassed the main elevator banks and crossed to the far end of the lobby, where a separate staircase split off from the public-facing infrastructure. Unmarked door. Second thumbprint scanner. The mechanism was slower here, more deliberate, like it was thinking about whether to let him through.
It did.
The staircase went down.
The industrial smell hit immediately concrete dust and recycled air and something chemical underneath, faint but persistent. The lights down here were fluorescent, one of them strobing at irregular intervals like a dying insect. His reflection kept splitting apart in the polished floor panels. Reforming. Splitting again.
He looked like a ghost.
Felt like one too.
At least ghosts don't pay rent.
At the base of the stairs, the corridor stretched ahead of him. Long. Narrow. The walls were reinforced glass over brushed steel, the kind that showed you the infrastructure running behind it pipes, conduits, things that hummed. The floor was perforated metal plating, hollow underneath. Every step rang slightly.
And stenciled on the glass, at regular intervals, in sharp yellow lettering:
WARNING — KEEP YOUR DISTANCE
Adrian had never asked what was behind those panels.
He had a feeling the answer wasn't great.
The double doors at the end wouldn't open smoothly. They never did. He had to shoulder through.
Captain Elias Ward was at his desk, and Christ, the man looked cooked.
Uniform still parade-ground sharp, but his face? His face looked like it had been through a blender. Eyes so bloodshot they were practically weeping.
"You look like shit," Adrian said.
"Good morning to you too." Elias didn't even look up. Just slid a black folder across the desk. It moved like it had bodies inside. "Sit down."
"I'm good here."
"Wasn't asking."
Adrian sat. "You know, most people start with coffee before the existential dread."
The folder had a red stamp that screamed at him:
[N.P.U. EYES ONLY]
"Before you open that," Elias said, and his voice cracked. Actually cracked. "I need you to know I fought this. Fought hard."
"That's comforting."
"I'm serious, Adrian. I told them to send drones. To send a strike team. To send literally anyone else." He finally looked up. "They said no. They said you."
Adrian's hand hovered over the folder. "Wow. I'm so honored. Should I prepare a speech?"
"Why me?"
"Because you're the only one who's been inside Nexopharma before and walked out breathing."
The room got colder.
"Walked is generous. I believe there was crawling. And some light screaming."
Adrian opened the folder.
INCIDENT REPORT: SOUTH METRO INDUSTRIAL ZONE
Workers missing: 23 and counting
Irina K. Dovale (29) — Chemical disposal tech. Last radio contact: "Something's in the vents."
Marcus H. Leigh (34) — Transport. Left his wedding ring on the dashboard. Truck found running, driver's door open, blood on the seat.
Daniel R. Pierce (41) — Foreman. Last message to wife: "Still hearing screaming from B-Level. Gonna check it out."
Then nothing.
Adrian flipped the page.
AUTOPSY EXCERPT — SUBJECT 004 (IDENTITY WITHHELD)
Cause of death: Catastrophic organ failure secondary to—
He stopped reading. Looked at the photo instead.
Shouldn't have.
The thing on the table didn't look human anymore. Muscles bulging wrong, like tumors. Skin split in places. Bones visible, too thick, growing through the flesh in spikes.
The face was frozen mid-scream.
"Jesus," Adrian breathed. He tilted his head. "You know, from a certain angle, this almost looks like my last Tinder date."
"Adrian."
"What? I'm processing trauma through humor. It's very healthy. I read an article."
"Jesus Christ."
"Yeah." Adrian closed the folder. His hands were shaking. He pressed them flat on his knees. "Survival rate is zero. Every single person who goes missing ends up like that. Or worse."
"What's worse than that?"
"We don't know. Some of them we never find."
Adrian stared at him. "Well, that's ominous and not at all terrifying. Great pitch, Elias. Really selling it."
"You're sending me into a meat grinder."
"I know."
"A literal meat grinder where people grow extra bones and die screaming."
"Yes."
"And you think I'm just gonna—"
"No," Elias cut him off. "I think you're gonna tell me to go fuck myself. I think you're gonna walk out that door and I'll never see you again. And honestly?" He leaned back, rubbed his face. "I wouldn't blame you."
Silence.
The fluorescent light kept buzzing.
Adrian thought about the last time. The real last time. Nexopharma Tower, 10 years ago. The smell of burning plastic and cooked meat. The way the ceiling came down and he'd crawled through the gap with his ribs broken and someone's blood in his mouth and he swore—
"There's a helicopter on the roof," Elias said quietly. "Leaves in twenty minutes. Your choice."
He slid an earpiece across the desk.
Adrian stared at it.
Picked it up.
"I want hazard pay."
"Done."
"Double hazard pay."
"Fine."
"And one of those little coffee machines for my apartment. The fancy kind."
"Adrian—"
"I'm walking into a body-horror nightmare, Elias. I deserve espresso."
"Fine. Fine." Elias looked exhausted. "Anything else?"
"Yeah." Adrian stood. "If I die down there — and let's be honest, the odds are fantastic, you personally tell my family and friends it wasn't their fault."
Elias's face did something complicated. "Deal."
Adrian headed for the door. The folder stayed on the desk. He didn't need it. The image was burned in already.
"Also," he added, "maybe mention I died heroically. You know, saving orphans or something. Lie a little."
"Adrian."
He stopped. Didn't turn.
"Come back alive," Elias said. "Please."
Adrian's hand tightened on the doorframe. "You're getting sentimental in your old age."
"I'm serious."
"Yeah." Adrian pulled the door open. "Me too. But if I don't, you're buying the nicest coffin. I want the one with the silk lining. I've earned it."
05:45 | Rooftop Helipad
The wind tried to rip his face off.
Adrian squinted against it, tasting metal and gasoline and the rain that was coming. The sky looked diseased. Bruised purple and sickly yellow, like an infected wound.
Matches my mood. How poetic.
The city below was waking up. Sort of. South Metro never really slept. It just twitched and moaned and bled in the dark.
And there was Garrick, hanging out of the pilot's seat like a golden retriever with a death wish, headset askew, cigarette dangling from his mouth, waving.
"Adrian! My favorite suicidal investigator!"
"Put that out before you blow us up," Adrian shouted.
"Where's your sense of adventure?" But Garrick flicked the cigarette over the side anyway. "Hop in, sweetheart. We're burning daylight."
"It's not even six AM."
"Burning darkness, then. Pedant."
Adrian climbed in. The interior smelled like energy drinks and someone's terrible life choices. "Did something die in here?"
"That's just my air freshener."
"Fire your supplier." He buckled in. Three times. The harness kept slipping.
"You nervous?" Garrick asked, flipping switches.
"No."
"Your hands are shaking."
"That's just my pre-death palsy. Very common."
"Sure." Garrick grinned. Pulled back on the stick. The helicopter lurched into the air like a drunk bird.
Adrian's stomach stayed on the roof. "I hate flying."
"You've mentioned."
"Just reminding you. In case I vomit on your upholstery."
"Please don't."
They climbed fast. Too fast. The city dropped away and suddenly they were flying over the real Metro City. The one tourists didn't see.
North Metro glittered like broken glass in the weak light. All those pretty towers and clean streets and people who thought they were safe.
Then the South.
Oh, the South.
It spread out below like a cancer. Smokestacks pumping black into the sky. Streets so narrow and twisted they looked like veins. Buildings leaning against each other like drunks. Fires burning in trash cans. People already awake because they never went to sleep.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Garrick said.
"It looks like Hell's parking lot."
"Little bit, yeah." He banked hard. Adrian grabbed the oh-shit handle. "ETA twenty-six minutes. Try not to puke."
"No promises."
Adrian pressed his forehead against the cold window.
The folder's words kept looping in his head.
Still hearing screaming from B-Level.
Something's in the vents.
Subject died screaming.
Great. Love that for me.
He closed his eyes.
Mistake.
The dark shifted and suddenly he was back there. Nexopharma Tower. The alarm screaming. Smoke so thick he couldn't see his own hands. Someone grabbing his arm, pulling him — run run RUN—
The ceiling beam cracking like a gunshot.
The sound of a body hitting the floor and not getting up.
"Hey."
Adrian's eyes snapped open. He was breathing too fast.
"You good?" Garrick was watching him in the mirror. Not grinning anymore.
"Peachy."
"You're a terrible liar."
"And you're a terrible pilot. We all have our flaws."
"Ouch." The grin came back. "There he is. Thought I lost you for a second."
They flew in silence for a while. The only sound was the rotors and the wind and the city groaning below them.
"Can I ask you something?" Garrick said finally.
"Will it stop if I say no?"
"Why'd you take this job?"
Adrian didn't answer.
"I mean, you could've said no. Elias would've understood. Hell, I'd understand. This is a suicide run and we both know it."
"Then why'd you take it?"
Garrick shrugged. "Someone's gotta fly the getaway car. Besides, I like you. You don't bullshit."
"That's because I save all my energy for self-deprecation."
"So? Why?"
Adrian looked down. They were over the Industrial Zone now. He could see the Nexo facility from here. A sprawling compound of concrete and barbed wire and things that should've stayed buried.
"Because someone has to," he said quietly.
"That's it?"
"Yeah."
"Bullshit."
Adrian almost smiled. "Yeah. Bullshit."
The truth was simpler and worse: he owed them. Irina and Marcus and Daniel and all the others. Because 10 years ago he'd walked away from Nexopharma and people died and he knew they were still doing it and he did nothing.
And that was worse than dying.
"Plus," Adrian added, "my therapist says I need to confront my trauma. So really, this is just very expensive therapy."
"Your therapist is an idiot."
"I know. But her office has good magazines."
"Drop point coming up," Garrick announced. Professional voice now. "Warehouse district, north perimeter. I'll stay on station for extraction."
"If there's anything to extract."
"When." Garrick looked at him in the mirror. Dead serious. "You hear me? When. You're coming back."
Adrian checked his gun. Loaded. One in the chamber. Safety off. "You know, statistically speaking—"
"Fuck your statistics."
"—my odds are really, really bad."
"Adrian."
"I'm just saying. Vegas wouldn't take this bet."
"You're coming back," Garrick said. "Because if you don't, I'll have to do the paperwork. And I hate paperwork."
Adrian laughed. Actually laughed. It sounded wrong in the enclosed space. "Well. When you put it that way."
"Set us down," he said.
The helicopter dropped.
The city rose up to meet them like an open mouth.
And somewhere in there, in the dark, something was screaming.
You know, Adrian muttered to himself, "I really should've called in sick today."