Both Steven and Kael sat in the cruiser as it hummed steadily along the elevated causeway, its dark chassis gliding like a shadow through the night. Kael had the wheel, one hand relaxed on the controls, the other resting casually near the console as the soft glow of dashboard lights played across his features. Outside the windows, the city of Caelumbra passed by in streaks of neon and mist, its lights shimmering like stars drowned in rain.
Steven leaned back in his seat, the familiar hum of the cruiser blending with the rhythm of his thoughts. "So… where are we headed?" he asked, glancing sideways. "Where do we even start with locating Trask?"
Kael didn't look over. His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "My informant already gave me Trask's last known location."
Steven blinked. "Wait—what? Then why aren't we reporting that in?"
"Because we're going to bring him in," Kael replied, casual as ever. "Well… mostly you. I'll be there for emotional support."
Steven turned fully to face him, incredulous. "The file says Trask is a High Class 4. A shifter. With a neurotoxin that can knock out a small squad. It says officers are not to engage without proper backup. And your old ass is not 'proper backup'."
Kael gave a light shrug, steering them through a turn as a cluster of flickering billboards cast wavering light across the dash. "Relax. We're not technically engaging. We're just going to check if my intel is accurate. We'll only call for backup right before things get hairy. That's technically within regulation… depending on interpretation."
Steven exhaled through his nose, unconvinced. "If this gets us in trouble, you're the one filling out the paperwork."
Kael laughed. "Deal."
Steven looked down at his console, flipping through the profile again. "From what I'm reading… Trask's ability sounds more creepy than aggressive."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? How so?"
"He uses echolocation—his body constantly clicks, like an insect. Three tails, each tipped with bone spikes. One of them can eject the spike like a dart and inject a paralytic neurotoxin. Works fast, too."
Kael whistled low. "He seems charming."
Their banter faded into silence as the cruiser moved further from the city center. The city's neon glow slowly dimmed behind them, swallowed by the deeper dark of the lower districts. Here, the buildings stood older, closer, like a crowd leaning in too far. Steam curled from vent grates, and the ever-present haze thickened with each passing kilometer. They were nearing the edge of the Wards.
Steven watched the clouds shift as they approached their destination, the Wards.
A century ago, after the city's early days were swallowed by chaos and growth, the Wards were born of desperation. Refugees from the wildlands brought more than their grief—they brought disease, strange and twisted mutations carried in blood and breath. The influx swelled the population far beyond what the infrastructure of the time could handle. Crime surged, medical care crumbled, and soon, the hospitals, already stretched thin, became war zones.
Gangs used emergency rooms as hunting grounds. Hitmen finished the job that rivals couldn't. Some patients never left, not because of their wounds, but because someone came to make sure they didn't.
With disease raging and violence constant, the few medical institutions that remained turned away the troublesome masses. While the rich and powerful bought their way to better treatment. The rest bled in alleyways or rotted in overcrowded clinics.
But from that rot came something strange. A cluster of outcast doctors—those stripped of their licenses, or never given the chance to earn one—banded together. They opened a hidden clinic deep in the district's decaying belly. It was illegal and unregulated. But soon, it became a beacon.
More came. Unlicensed surgeons. Fringe medics with experimental abilities. Charlatans selling miracles in vials. Some were frauds. Many were worse. But a few—just a few—were the real thing. And that was enough.
Over time, that spark became an inferno. The illegal clinic grew into a district-wide network. Word spread: if the sanctioned hospitals turned you away, you went to the Wards.
The Noctis Wards
And now, decades later, Steven found himself heading straight into it.
The cruiser veered off the main arterial road and into the choked veins of the Noctis Wards. Streetlamps faded behind them, replaced by the dull glow of scattered lighting, flickering erratically through a film of grime and mist. Kael kept one hand steady on the wheel as the vehicle drifted deeper into the sprawl, the silence between them broken only by the low rumble of the engine and the occasional crackle from the dashboard scanner.
The Wards were a place untouched by order. Buildings rose like broken teeth on either side—slanted walls, patched-up facades, their surfaces tattooed with warnings and gang markings rendered in faded crystal ink. Every alley whispered secrets. Steam hissed from vents in the ground, and exposed pipes ran like veins across the road, pulsing faintly with redirected power siphoned from the grid above.
"Where exactly are we going?" Steven asked, scanning the maze of narrow corridors outside the window.
Kael didn't look over. "Abandoned structure near the edge of the Wards. Old med storage facility. Informant pinged the location this morning—Trask's been using it as a fallback site for weeks. We'll check it out."
They passed through a checkpoint made of corrugated sheet metal and broken fencing, guarded by a handful of figures wrapped in mismatched armor and street gear. None of them stopped the cruiser. The car had the CPD tag, and Kael's face was enough to keep most people disinterested.
The deeper they went, the more distant the city felt. The clean symmetry of Caelumbra's upper levels gave way to a kind of organized decay—homes stacked like crates, gutters overflowing, every surface rusted, wired, or repurposed. Light spilled from doorways and windows but never reached the ground fully, filtered through hanging tarps and mesh canopies strung between buildings.
Even the air changed. Cooler, heavier. Tainted with chemical disinfectant and the dull scent of something rotting just out of sight.
Finally, Kael slowed the cruiser and pulled over beside a crumbling wall, partially overtaken by vines and rusted signage. Ahead of them, set back from the street, stood a squat one-story building—its roof sagging in the middle, walls patched with dull sheet metal. One side still bore the faded emblem of a long-defunct medical supply company.
"That's the place?" Steven asked, peering through the windshield.
Kael nodded, eyes focused. "That's the place."
They sat in silence for a few more seconds, the low idle of the cruiser filling the space between them. The building ahead looked quiet. Still, in the Wards, quiet never meant safe.
Kael finally broke the silence. "Check your gear. We don't go in loud unless we have to. There's always vultures ready to eat off the dead here."
Steven gave a silent nod, already reaching for his sidearm and checking the rest of his equipment.
A hollow wind whistled through the alleyways, carrying the dry scent of old concrete and rust. The structure ahead stood like a wound at the city's edge—once a medical storage facility, now long abandoned by anything resembling legitimacy.
Its frame sagged, the roof patched with mismatched metal sheets and plastic tarps, weighed down by bricks and broken cinderblocks. The outer walls were coated in grime, layered graffiti, and Bureau warning stickers peeled down to their glue. The company's emblem—barely visible—clung stubbornly to the right-hand corner of the facade.
Structurally, the building was divided into two wings, separated by a reinforced inner wall. The left side, slightly larger, was cluttered with remnants of crates and containers from its past use. The right side had likely been converted into a makeshift living space or storage area. Each wing had its own entrance—old sliding doors left ajar, marked by deep scratches and years of neglect.
Kael turned off the ignition. The sudden absence of the engine's hum let the world rush in—muffled voices in the distance, the sound of dripping water, the low hiss of a nearby vent bleeding steam into the cold air.
He glanced at Steven and gave a quiet nod. "Alright, Steven. Check for any unexpected guests Trask might have."
Steven exhaled and closed his eyes. A soft crackle of static danced across his arms and neck, barely visible sparks flickering around him like fireflies caught in a magnetic field. Then, with a deep breath, he opened his eyes. The sparks surged outward in a wave of faint light, invisible to most but vivid to him.
The feedback came almost instantly.
He spoke, eyes distant. "Three in the left wing. One on the right."
Kael's eyes narrowed. A shimmer passed over his face as his irises turned golden and his pupils stretched into slits—his shift beginning, the skin along his jaw tightening. He grinned, sharp and confident.
"Well, would you look at that. It's your lucky day—our target is separated from the rest of his guests."
He stepped out of the cruiser, one boot thudding against the gravel as he reached up to tap his comms. "I'll call for backup and keep the trio occupied. You deal with Trask. You remember what I told you about dealing with shifters, right?"
Steven opened the door and stepped out, checking the weight of the weapon at his side. "Knock them cold before they can shift."
"Exactly. It's less of a headache that way." Kael stretched his shoulders, gaze still locked on the dark outline of the building ahead. "I'll check for any back exits, get a lay of the structure. Once I give the signal, you move in. Subdue Trask. Try to make it fast and quiet."
Steven gave a single nod. He wasn't too concerned about the unexpected guests—on the ride over, Kael had shown him his Bureau tag, and after what Steven had seen of his ability, it made him wonder why someone like him wasn't ranked much higher.
Kael's voice dropped lower. "Get into position and be ready. I'll give you the signal."
The two figures split into the shadows of the Wards, swallowed by steam, silence, and the cold anticipation of the hunt.