The sky above New Belly bruised purple, like it had taken a hit. Rain drizzled sideways, carving thin lines into the mud-soaked forest floor. The road was cordoned off a mile in either direction. Yellow tape flapped in the breeze, a joke against the stench of blood and burnt hair.
Two black SUVs rolled up in formation, engines low and an.
Doors opened in sync.
Police Commissioner Robert stepped out, coat flaring in the wind. He was flanked by four armored guards from the tropolitan Response Division—the elite enforcent wing.
Robert took one look at the ss and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling like a furnace.
"This place slls like a butcher shop in a septic tank," he muttered.
Detective Gopal approached, soaked to the collar, holding out a steaming cup.
"Sorry you had to co out, sir. We—uh—we weren't sure how to classify this one."
Robert took the coffee without asking, sipped, and imdiately spat.
"Damn, Gopal. This coffee's a war cri."
Gopal shrugged. "It's all we've got. The field kitchen's running out of a van."
Robert turned toward the forensic tent. Beneath the tarp, a half-digested femur lay on a blood-soaked sheet. The techs worked in silence, eyes hollow, hands trembling from too many hours and too few answers.
"You said the girl's head was in a tree?"
"Her hair. Skull was gone. Looked like sothing chewed it clean," Gopal said, jaw tight. "We're still recovering the rest."
"Show the footage."
Gopal handed him a cracked, blood-sared phone. Robert tapped play. Static. Wind. Then—
Screaming.
A blur in the fog. A screech—like a lion and a pig grinding through steel. Then a wet thump.
Robert didn't blink.
"Okay," he said at last. "We're calling in SWAT. Now."
....
Twenty minutes later, six matte-black tactical vehicles crawled up the gravel shoulder. The tropolitan SWAT Task Force deployed like they were entering a warzone.
Captain Elina Voss dropped down from the lead truck, balaclava rolled up, rain streaking her scarred face. She was six-foot-two and built like a sledgehamr with legs. Her voice was smoke and gravel.
"What's the brief?" she asked Robert.
"Unknown hostile. Extrely violent. Large. Possibly multiple. Doesn't leave survivors. And it's not a fucking bear."
Voss smirked, flashing a silver-capped canine.
"So, a monster hunt."
"No jokes. This thing's real. Either the army missed one during the cleanup, or..." Robert hesitated. "Sothing new was born in there."
Voss's smile died instantly.
"Shit."
...
They moved fast. SWAT swept the forest with drones, thermals, and dogs. But the hounds wouldn't go past Kiloter Marker 48—they whimpered, growled, and pissed themselves before backing off.
"Movent!" soone barked over comms. "East quadrant. Gas station—half a klick out!"
.....
The gas station sat like a broken tooth on Highway 47. The flickering sign—WALSKI'S FUEL & FRIES—buzzed like it was glitching out of reality. Windows smashed. Pump hoses splayed across the lot like veins.
Voss led the breach.
Inside was a bloodbath.
Tile floors slicked crimson. A teen's body twisted backward across the snack aisle, spine snapped like dry twigs. Behind the counter, the clerk was crucified to the wall—hands nailed up with rusted wrenches, ribs cracked open, lungs missing.
The bathroom door was locked.
Voss kicked it in.
Two more bodies. Young couple. Faces peeled. Eye sockets hollowed with surgical precision. No struggle. Just horror.
A rookie gagged. Voss slapped his helt hard.
"Control your gut or get out."
She scanned the ss. "Four bodies. No signs of forced entry. No gunfire."
Robert lit a cigarette beside the ruined coffee machine, ignoring the NO SMOKING sign.
"This thing hunts. For fun."
Gopal flipped through his soaked notebook.
"We're at eight dead. Two-kiloter radius."
"Make that nine," a officer called. "Drainage ditch behind the station. New body."
It was missing its skin.
By morning, New Belly was in lockdown.
Checkpoints at every road. Drones over the treetops. Ard patrols enforced curfew. Kids stayed ho. Bars closed early. No one ntioned monsters—not officially.
The public alert said it was a "rogue apex predator."
....
Inside the mobile command van, Robert sat with Gopal, Voss, and Dr. Sinha—a forensic specialist from the Bernard Empire's Departnt of Biothreat Control. His eyes were wild. He hadn't slept. His gloves were stained.
Sinha slid a steel tray across the table. On it was a molar the size of a golf ball—serrated, black at the root.
"We pulled this from the gas station clerk's skull," he said quietly.
Robert leaned in. "It's not human."
"No," Sinha said. "Not even close. This tooth belongs to a chira. A wild-born one."
Voss raised an eyebrow. "Chira?"
"Genetic patchwork," Sinha explained. "It has traits from reptiles, insects, mammals… possibly even avian structure. Reptilian jaw hinge. Feline nerve clusters. Insectoid plating. It's feral. No speech ability. No tool use. Just instinct and murder. It doesn't distinguish between man and womy. If it sees movent, it attacks. No intelligence, no purpose—just raw, biological aggression."
Robert stared at the tooth.
"How old?"
"Two, maybe three months. Still juvenile. Not even fully developed."
That landed like a hamr in the van.
"You're saying it's new?" Voss said. "That it was born here? After the cleanup?"
Sinha hesitated. "Yes. Which ans there's a nest. A den. Sowhere in this forest, the conditions are still right for chiras to be born. That shouldn't be possible."
Robert looked away, jaw clenched.
"A new danger"
"It gets worse. The creature's blood doesn't clot like normal. It spreads through tissue, starts corrupting other cells. It doesn't just kill. It infects."
"You an it spreads mutations?" Gopal asked.
"No. Not consciously. It's not a virus. But the tissue sample suggests that wounds caused by it… might fester in strange ways. We're running a containnt screen on the first responders, just in case."
Robert dragged his hand down his face.
"Goddamn it."
Sinha lowered his voice. "Commissioner… this isn't just a rogue chira. This forest was a birthing zone once. We knew that. We thought it was clear and safe—but sothing has restarted the process. Maybe spores in the soil. Maybe a surviving queen. We don't know. But the life cycle has begun again."
Voss stood.
"Then we burn it again. Harder this ti."
Robert nodded slowly, eyes cold.
"I have to report this matter to the Pri Minister."
Reviews
All reviews (0)