At night, in the open mainland of Dunlop, a hooded figure walked briskly, his shoulders hunched and his head down, as he brushed against many people, who shot him wary glances as he passed by. The neon lights of the city cast an eerie glow on the wet pavement, and the sounds of the bustling city filled the air, a cacophony of car horns, chatter, and warring music. He seemed to be in great pain, as blood constantly dropped from his body, leaving a crimson trail in his wake, and raising concern from the onlookers, but none dared come close, fearing he was a criminal. The smell of street food and exhaust fumes hung heavy over the crowded streets, and the hooded figure's eyes seemed to be sunken, his skin pale and clammy, his movements were awkward and jerky.
Suddenly, a woman wearing office clothes approached him. "Sir, you seem to be heavily injured, I could patch you up if you want." Her voice was gentle, but the hooded figure shook his head, his eyes flashing with a hint of warning.
"I'll be fine, thanks." The woman nodded, not pressing further, and left. The hooded man continued to walk, his footsteps echoing off the buildings, until he reached an abandoned narrow dark alleyway.
The air was thick with the stench of garbage and decay, and the only sound was the soft crunch of gravel beneath his feet. He continued to walk in silence, his eyes scanning the shadows. He snorted in anger, as a ray of light hit him, it turned out he was not alone. He stood frozen, his muscles tense, as the other man cautiously approached, his flashlight fixed on the hooded figure, casting eerie shadows on the walls. As the man drew near, he asked, "What are you doing here?" His voice trembled slightly, and the hooded figure could sense his fear, the scent of adrenaline and sweat wafting from his body. "Well you shouldn't be here to you know." The hooded figure laughed hysterically scaring the man even more.
The hooded figure removed his hoodie, revealing a pale, sunken face, and an eerie smile that revealed long, sharp canines, which instantly scared the wits out of the other guy. The air was thick with tension as the two men locked eyes, the only sound the heavy breathing of the hooded figure. He turned to run, but it was too late, as the pale figure already caught up to him and grabbed him in a flash, his movements swift and deadly. The unlucky man's miserable screams echoed around the entire alleyway, soon fading into nothingness as his body fell to the ground with a soft thud.
The pale figure stood panting heavily, his mouth smeared with blood, his chest heaving with exertion, and his eyes gleaming with a feral intensity. He observed his injury, his wrist, which seemed to be chopped off, was slowly regenerating.
"Damn, it isn't still healing fast, even though I already drank blood. Who was that guy?" He muttered frustratedly, his voice low and menacing. "I have to return, before the werewolves find me." He withdrew a red potion bottle with a red liquid inside, an eerie grin appearing on his face. "Maybe I should return as quickly as possible," He turned to leave the alleyway, disappearing into the shadows, the sound of his footsteps echoed in the distance.
- - -
The next morning, the sound of police sirens pierced the air, accompanied by the flashing red and blue lights that cast an eerie glow on the wet pavement. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted from a nearby cup. Muffled voices came from the surrounding buildings, where curious onlookers peered out of windows, their faces pressed against the glass. Do not cross signs cordoned off the area, as three police officers stood over a body, their faces somber and concerned.
One officer stood, his eyes fixed on the ground, while another took photos of the body, the camera's shutter clicking away, capturing every detail. The officer's gloves rustled as he moved, and the flash of the camera illuminated the dark alleyway. "Have you called the forensics department?" Detective sergeant moses a red fat-faced man asked, irritation visible in his voice. His face was flushed, and his breathing was heavy, as if he'd been running.
"Yes, sir, but they haven't responded yet," the officer replied, his voice hesitant, glancing at his watch. Just then, a young man, dressed in a crisp suit, his hair perfectly styled, moved the do not cross sign barrier and walked towards the crime scene, his eyes scanning the area with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. The sound of his shoes clicking on the pavement echoed through the alleyway.
A large, uniformed figure blocked his path, his face stern and unyielding. "You got some nerve, spunk, you must either be stupid not to have read the sign. Now get out before I–" The young man's eyes sparkled with amusement as he shoved the officer slightly, his movements effortless, and approached the detective. The officer's face turned red with anger, and his hand reached for his cuffs, but the young man's smile stopped him. "Detective Sergeant Moses, reporting for duty," .
The detective raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical, asking, "Are you from the forensics department?" The young man's grin widened, his eyes glinking with amusement. "Yes, I am," he replied, his voice cheeky, winking at the detective. The detective snorted, his lips curling up in a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Well, then," the detective said, pointing at the corpse, his voice dry. "Proceed!"
The young man, Detective Sergeant Moses, knelt beside the body, his eyes scanning every detail. He took out a pair of gloves and began to examine the victim's wounds, his touch gentle and precise. After some minutes of examining, the young man stood. "You might want to consider taking the corpse to the forensics department," he said, his voice serious.
He paused, observing their expressions. "There are four red dot marks that look like a snake bite mark on one side of the victim's neck, and the other was completely ripped open. There's almost no sign of struggle, suggesting the victim was rendered unconscious before being killed, considering the wound on the other side of his neck. This was clearly a work of another human, not some wild animal. But something remains strange."
He paused, looking at their expressions once more. "It's possible the victim died of extreme blood loss, but considering the state of the corpse and the lack of visible blood despite the large cut in his neck, it could mean the victim was either murdered somewhere else or–" "Drained of blood and died as a result," the detective said, realization dawning.
He turned to the young forensic scientist. "You should go; we'll take it from here." The young man nodded and left, an unusual smirk plastered on his face. "Sir, are you going to trust what he said?" one of the patrol officers asked, his tone skeptical.
The detective's expression remained unreadable, his face impassive, as he continued to stare at the body. "Get it to the morgue," he ordered. The patrol officers nodded and quickly got back to work.
Meanwhile, from a far distance on the highway, a hooded figure wearing a black face mask, watched ominously from a roof, waiting for a perfect opportunity to act. They loaded the corpse into a red car while the detective and a patrol officer left in the police car. The figure's eyes narrowed at his target. Clenching his rocket launcher tightly, he pulled the trigger, and a flaming rocket shot out with overwhelming force.
The figure stood firm, unmoved by the recoil. The rocket clashed with the car's tires, causing an explosion that engulfed and sent the car tumbling in the air. The police car was also flipped by the brutal force. The onlookers were quickly scared out of their wits and quickly fled the scene, soon the entire highway became silent, no vehicle was in sight except the two damaged cars.
The hooded figure quietly approached. He stuck his hand inside the red hot car door and tore it out like paper. The car opened and the two men rolled out bloody and badly injured. The patrol officer's state was much worse. His left eye was destroyed by a glass shard, there was a deep cut on his head and a broken rib. He instantly passed out as soon as the car opened.
...Detective Moses was in a better state, getting off with only a slight injury on his head. He slowly tried to get up, dazed. From the corner of his eyes, he spotted a blurry figure carrying the corpse, which strangely didn't seem to be damaged in the slightest. His back was turned against him, just by looking at the figure, Moses already felt an immense sense of danger.
He slowly reached for his gun, assured the figure wasn't watching. Just as his hand touched the holster of his gun, the figure's cold voice froze him in place. "If I were you, I wouldn't do that." The figure's voice was low and menacing, sending a chill down Moses' spine.
"Judging your state, you are probably in better health. So why don't you be a nice old fatty and save some lives,"
Moses was about to retort, but the masked figure cut him off coldly. "
They are still alive, their lives depend on you now." He picked up the corpse and turned to leave then he paused slightly turning.
"Make a call. While you are at it, I will be taking this with me,"
Moses blankly stared as the figure disappeared with the corpse into the large wall of smoke.
Moses took out his walkie-talkie, his movements slow as he clicked on it, and a raspy voice echoed.
"Deputy Sergeant Lee, over!"
Moses slumped weakly, his eyes becoming heavier by the second. "Send... Back up and... contact the ambulance..." Moses' weak voice trailed off in the air as Lee yelled over the phone.
"What happened Sergeant, you just hold on, I will be right there..."
However, Moses had already passed out some moments ago.