Inside of a bar, a high class establishment, sat a man who looked out of place, clad in denim and leather, with a worn out face and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He took a swig of his drink before looking forward.



The Man: We take a lot of things for granted. The world functions, barely, thanks to a certain few who make it function for us. The marvels of the modern world are always on the verge of breaking and someone needs to fix them.

The bartender handed a note to the man, and he quickly read it and disposed of it. 

The Man: Take for example an apartment complex. It has many rooms, running many utilities, all the damn time. Something is bound to break. That's when you call for the maintenance guy. He's there to fix things. He's there to hold it all together. But what happens when he can't hold it together? What happens when the problem is big? When it's way way too big for one man to handle? Will everything break down, or will he rise to the challenge?

File 001: Seeing Double in Harrowgate

Rain had been falling over Westhaven since late afternoon, heavy enough to overwhelm storm drains and turn every street beneath Harrowgate Apartments into a ribbon of reflected neon. By two in the morning, the neighborhood had mostly surrendered to it. The restaurants along Eastham Avenue were closed, buses had stopped running, and even the twenty four hour pharmacy across the intersection had switched off half its lights.



Harrowgate remained awake.

The eight story apartment building was almost fifty years old, built during Westhaven's rapid expansion away from Metro City. New owners had renovated the lobby three years earlier, replacing worn tile with polished stone and hanging decorative lights. Behind the walls, however, Harrowgate was still Harrowgate. Old copper pipes rattled whenever someone turned on a shower. Half the electrical panels had handwritten labels. Several maintenance shafts dated back to the building's original construction.

Martin Hale knew all of them.



At thirty four, Martin had spent six years as Harrowgate's maintenance supervisor and knew the building well enough that tenants occasionally called him before they called emergency services. He could identify apartments by the sound of their plumbing and knew which elevator would stick during humid weather.

Tonight he sat in the basement maintenance office with an electrical diagram spread across his knees and a cup of Cafe Noir coffee, which was still somehow still good cold. On the television was news coverage of a massive event in Central City, but those were getting to be more and more frequent. 

His phone read 2:06 AM.

Martin leaned back in the chair and rubbed both hands over his face.

He usually worked days. Harrowgate's overnight maintenance man had called out sick three nights in a row, and the property manager had asked Martin to cover until someone else could be found.

A pipe clicked above him.

The boiler hummed behind the wall.

Rainwater thundered through the exterior drains.

Martin closed his eyes.

Five minutes. That was all he wanted.

A scream ripped through the building.

Martin was upright in an instant.

It was a woman's voice. High pitched and terrified. 

Martin grabbed his master keys and radio.

Martin Hale: Leon, you hear that?

Night security guard Leon Matthews replied from the lobby.

Leon Matthews: Yeah. Sounded like seven.

Martin pushed through the stairwell door.

Martin Hale: Call police. I'm checking.

Leon Matthews: Martin, maybe wait until I get there.

Martin Hale: Call first.

He climbed.

The elevator would have been faster, but Martin had dealt with enough domestic disputes and drunken emergencies to know that entering an unknown situation inside a locked metal box was a bad idea.

Second floor.

Third.

By the fifth his lack of sleep was catching up with him.

A tenant opened his door on six.

Tenant: What's going on?

Martin Hale: Stay inside, please.

Martin continued upward.

The seventh floor hallway was empty.

Apartment 7C stood halfway down the corridor.

Its door was open several inches.

Martin knew the tenants. David and Rachel Lorne. Mid thirties. Quiet. No complaints beyond a broken dishwasher six months earlier. David worked late often. Rachel worked from home several days a week.

Martin approached slowly.

Martin Hale: Rachel? David?

Nothing.

He pushed the door wider.

A lamp lay broken beside the sofa.

One dining chair had been overturned. A ceramic bowl had shattered near the kitchen. Several fragments had been ground into the hardwood as if somebody had stepped on them.

Martin stopped.

A narrow smear of blood crossed the floor.

His fatigue disappeared.



Martin Hale: Rachel?

He raised the radio.

Martin Hale: Leon, definite disturbance in 7C. Tell them possible assault.

Leon Matthews: Police are already moving. You see anybody?

Martin Hale: No.

Martin stepped inside without touching anything.

The bedroom door stood open.

The blankets had been dragged halfway off the bed.

Another smear of blood marked the doorframe.

Bathroom empty.

Closet empty.

The balcony was locked from inside.

Martin returned to the living room.

Nothing made sense.

The elevator chimed outside.

Footsteps approached.

Martin turned.

Rachel Lorne appeared in the doorway carrying an umbrella and her purse.



She stopped when she saw him.

For a few seconds neither spoke.

Rachel's eyes moved from Martin to the broken lamp and finally to the blood on the floor.

Rachel Lorne: What happened?

Martin stared at her.

Martin Hale: Where were you?

Rachel Lorne: Downstairs.

Martin Hale: Where downstairs?

Rachel Lorne: My car. I forgot my charger.

Martin examined her.

No cuts.

No torn clothes.

Her dark sweater was completely dry.

He glanced at the umbrella.

It wasn't dripping.

Martin Hale: I heard you scream.

Rachel's brow furrowed.

Rachel Lorne: I didn't scream.

Martin Hale: Somebody screamed in this apartment.

Rachel Lorne: I wasn't here.

Martin pointed toward the floor.

Martin Hale: There's blood in your living room.

Rachel looked down.

For perhaps half a second, her expression became completely blank.

Rachel Lorne: Maybe David cut himself?

Martin Hale: Enough to bleed from the bedroom to the living room?

Rachel Lorne: I don't know.

Martin Hale: Where is David?

Rachel Lorne: Working late.

Martin studied her again.

Martin Hale: Police are coming.

Rachel sighed.

Rachel Lorne: Why?

Martin Hale: Because someone may have been hurt in here!

Rachel Lorne: Martin, nobody was hurt.

Martin Hale: You don't know that. Look around! Why are you not more panicked! Look at your apartment!

She looked at him for several seconds.

Rachel Lorne: You look tired.

Martin felt irritation push through his concern.

Martin Hale: I'm fine.

Rachel Lorne: Maybe you should sleep.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Leon arrived first with two Westhaven police officers behind him.

The next fifteen minutes left Martin feeling less certain of everything.

Rachel insisted there had been no assault.

The officers photographed the blood and damage, checked every room and found no forced entry. Rachel declined medical attention. She had no visible injuries and calmly repeated that she had gone to the parking garage shortly before the scream.

Martin found himself being asked how long he had been awake.

One officer suggested the scream could have come from another apartment.

Martin pointed to the blood.

The officer didn't disagree. He simply couldn't connect it to a crime without a victim.

By 2:45 AM, everyone returned downstairs.

Rachel remained in 7C after reluctantly agreeing not to clean anything until investigators followed up.

Martin sat behind the lobby desk.

Leon handed him fresh coffee.

Leon Matthews: You look terrible.

Martin Hale: You're really helping.

Leon leaned against the desk.

Leon Matthews: You sure it was her screaming?

Martin Hale: Yes.

Leon Matthews: Through seven floors?

Martin Hale: I know what I heard.

Leon nodded.

He believed Martin.

Or at least believed Martin believed himself.

The front doors opened at 3:17.

David Lorne entered beneath the awning, soaked from the rain and carrying a laptop bag over one shoulder.

David Lorne: Morning.

Martin stood.

Martin Hale: David.

David stopped.

David Lorne: What's wrong?

Martin Hale: Is Rachel okay?

David stared at him.

David Lorne: Rachel?

Martin Hale: There was some trouble upstairs earlier.

David looked confused.

David Lorne: Rachel isn't here.

Martin felt the room contract around him.

Martin Hale: What?

David Lorne: She's staying with her mother tonight.

Martin didn't answer.

David Lorne: Martin?

Martin Hale: I spoke to her forty minutes ago.

David laughed once.

Then stopped.

David Lorne: No, you didn't.

Martin Hale: She walked into your apartment while I was standing in it.

David pulled out his phone.

David Lorne: She texted me around midnight. She was heading to her mother's.

He called.

They waited.

Nothing.

David called again.

A faint electronic melody answered somewhere beneath them.

Martin slowly looked toward the floor.

Leon straightened.

David lowered the phone.

David Lorne: That's hers.

The basement corridor smelled of wet concrete and machine oil.

The ringtone became louder as they approached the old laundry room.

Martin switched on additional lights.

A maintenance drain ran along the wall.

Rachel's phone lay beside it.

David moved toward it.

Martin Hale: Don't touch anything.

David stopped.

There was blood across the screen.

More than upstairs.

David Lorne: Rachel?

A voice behind them answered.



Rachel Lorne: What are you doing with my phone?

David spun around.

Rachel stood at the opposite end of the corridor.

Martin's stomach dropped.

Rachel Lorne: I was looking for that.

David stepped backward.

David Lorne: Rachel?

Rachel Lorne: What?

David Lorne: Where were you tonight?

Rachel Lorne: Upstairs.

David Lorne: You weren't supposed to be here.

Rachel Lorne: I came home.

David Lorne: Why?

Another pause.

Rachel Lorne: Because I wanted to.

David's breathing changed.

David Lorne: Honey, you're confusing me. You said your mother needed you. In fact, you called me on your way there.

Rachel didn't answer.

David backed away.

David Lorne: Rachel, what's wrong?

Martin Hale: This phone has blood on it, just like in your apartment! 

David Lorne: Our apartment? What happened?! 

Martin Hale: And when I saw her earlier, she said she had gone out to her car, but her clothes and umbrella were dry. 

David Lorne: Rachel, what's going on?

Something inside Rachel's face shifted.

Her jaw moved several centimeters to the left with a wet crack.

David froze.

Her head snapped sideways far beyond what a human neck should allow.



Skin tightened against something moving beneath it.

Martin grabbed David by the jacket.

Rachel dropped onto all fours and rushed them.

Martin shoved David through the fire door and followed.

The creature slammed into the opposite side hard enough to buckle the metal.



Martin locked it.

Another impact shook the frame.

David fell against the wall.

Martin looked through the wired glass window.

Nothing.

The corridor beyond was empty.

David slid down the wall.

David Lorne: What the hell was that thing?! Where is my wife?!

Martin looked toward Rachel's bloody phone.

He had no answer.

By 4:05 AM, Harrowgate had become a crime scene.

Police searched the basement, roof, garage and every public corridor.

They found nothing.

Rachel's mother confirmed Rachel had never arrived at her house.

Her messages had stopped shortly before midnight.

Forensic officers collected blood samples from Apartment 7C and the basement.

Tenants were instructed to remain inside until police determined whether an intruder was still in the building.

Martin sat in the security office reviewing footage with Leon and David.

At 1:53 AM, Rachel entered Harrowgate.

She walked through the lobby.

Same clothes.

Same purse.

She didn't use the elevator.

She went directly toward the basement.

Martin leaned closer.

Martin Hale: Keep going.

The recording continued.

Rachel never returned.

At 2:11 AM, she appeared on the seventh floor hallway camera stepping out of the elevator.

David stared.

David Lorne: How?

Martin looked toward the building diagram pinned to the wall.

Harrowgate had been modified repeatedly over five decades. Old laundry shafts had been sealed but not removed. Plumbing access spaces crossed between floors. Some maintenance passages were barely wide enough for a man to crawl through.

Martin Hale: The walls.

Leon frowned.

Leon Matthews: What?

Martin Hale: It didn't use the halls.

The monitors flickered.

Every screen went black.

A second later they returned.

One camera showed the seventh floor corridor.

A man stood directly beneath it.

Martin Hale.

Same gray work shirt.

Same exhausted face.

Martin stared at himself.

The other Martin raised one hand.

Waved.

The feed died.

Nobody spoke.

Martin's radio crackled.

Tenant: Martin?

He grabbed it.

Martin Hale: Yeah?

Tenant: Why are you telling everyone there's a gas leak?

Martin stopped breathing.

Martin Hale: I'm not.

Tenant: You just knocked on my door.

Another tenant interrupted.

Tenant Two: Martin, are we evacuating or not?

A third voice followed.

Tenant Three: You said we had to go downstairs.

Martin looked at David.

Martin Hale: Everybody listen to me. Stay inside your apartments. Lock your doors. Do not open them for me!

Silence.

Martin Hale: I mean it. If I knock, don't open the door!

Martin switched off the radio.

David looked sick.

David Lorne: That was you. That thing...it has your face.

Martin Hale: Yeah.

Leon Matthews: Why?

Martin stared at the dead camera.

Martin Hale: Maybe because people open doors for me.

Martin grabbed his keys.

Leon Matthews: Where are you going?

Martin Hale: Upstairs.

Leon Matthews: Police are already here.

Martin Hale: And half the building thinks I told them to evacuate.

Leon stepped toward him.

Leon Matthews: You're not going alone.

Martin Hale: Stay here and show the cops the footage. They need to believe this before someone shoots me.

Leon didn't like it.

Martin didn't either.

He left anyway.

The sixth floor stairwell door stood open.

A family had gathered in the hallway carrying bags.

Martin hurried toward them.

Martin Hale: Go back inside.

The father stared.

Father: You just told us to come down.

Martin Hale: That wasn't me.

The man's expression hardened.

Father: You were standing right there.

Martin Hale: Listen to me. Get your kids inside and lock the door.

The elevator chimed.

Everyone looked toward it.

The doors opened.

Empty.

The family hurried into their apartment.

Martin remained still.

Something scraped above the ceiling.

He looked up.

One tile shifted slightly.

His radio crackled.

Static.

Then his own voice.

Martin's Voice: Sixth floor is clear.

The ceiling tile dropped.

He jumped backward. Nothing.

Martin forced himself to keep walking.

On seven, Apartment 7C stood open again.

Blood marked the hallway.

Fresh blood.

Martin entered.

Rachel's living room was dark.

He followed the blood into the bedroom.

One shoe lay beside the bed.

Rachel's.

Something protruded from beneath the frame.

Fingers.

Martin moved the mattress.

Rachel Lorne lay beneath the bed.

The real Rachel.

Her throat had been torn open.

Martin stumbled backward.

She had been dead the first time he encountered her.

A floorboard creaked behind him.

Martin turned.

His own face stood in the doorway.

And it smiled.



Creature Martin: Rachel?

Martin backed away.

Creature Martin: Rachel?

It stepped forward.

Martin ran.

The creature followed him into the hall.

Martin grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and swung.

The cylinder connected with the thing's chest.

Its body folded unnaturally before straightening again.

For an instant its face rippled between Martin and Rachel.

Martin ran for the stairs.

The creature stopped pursuing.

That bothered him.

He didn't understand why until he reached the lobby.

Police officers immediately drew weapons.

Officer: Hands up!

Martin stopped.

Martin Hale: Wait. It's me.

Officer: Hands where I can see them.

Martin raised them.

Martin Hale: There's something upstairs.

Officer: We know.

Martin followed the officer's eyes toward the front enLandersce.

Another Martin Hale stood outside beneath the awning, calmly speaking with two officers.

Martin went cold.

The false Martin pointed through the glass.

Creature Martin: That's him.

Martin couldn't hear the words, but he knew them.

Martin Hale: Ask him something!

The officer beside him frowned.

Martin Hale: Something only I should know.

Officer: How could I know what you know?! I don't even know what the hell is going on here!

Martin Hale: Ask him how to fix the boiler downstairs! I'm the maintenance guy! I know this answer!

The question was relayed.

Outside, the false Martin stopped.

Its expression went blank.

The officer repeated the question.

The creature looked toward the building.

For the first time Martin saw uncertainty in its stolen face.

An officer grabbed its arm.

The thing threw him across the hood of a cruiser.

Gunfire cracked through the rain.

The creature disappeared through a side enLandersce.

Police began preparing a controlled evacuation.

Martin objected immediately.

Martin Hale: I think that's what it wants.

The detective in charge looked at him.

Detective Rowan: Explain.

Martin unfolded an old building plan across the security desk.

Martin Hale: It told people there was a gas leak. It was sending everyone downstairs.

Detective Rowan: Why?

Martin Hale: Because it lives underneath us.

He pointed toward the old laundry room.

Martin Hale: There used to be a sub basement below the boiler level. Flooded twenty years ago. Owners sealed it instead of repairing it.

Detective Rowan: What's down there now?

Martin Hale: I don't know, but I could guess.

David stood behind them.

David Lorne: Rachel...she-

Martin looked at him.

David already knew. He immediately left the room to throw up. 

The access door behind the abandoned laundry room had been broken from the inside.

Detective Rowan ordered two officers down with Martin because he knew the layout.

They entered the sub basement shortly after 5:00 AM.

The smell reached them first.

Wet earth and rot.

Something chemical Martin couldn't identify.

Their flashlights moved across rusted boilers and concrete supports.

At the far end, between two old water tanks, clothing had been arranged in piles.

Some remains were months old.

The creature had been hunting Harrowgate slowly.

Quietly.

People who lived alone? Those who suddenly "moved out".

Visitors nobody connected to the building.

A police officer whispered.

Officer Martinez: How long has it been down here?

Martin looked at the remains.

Martin Hale: I don't want to know.

Something moved behind them.

Martinez vanished.

No scream.

No struggle.

One second he was there.

The next his flashlight rolled across the floor.

The other officer raised his pistol.

Officer Grant: Martinez?

Martin grabbed his arm.

Martin Hale: Don't.

From somewhere beyond the boilers:

Officer Martinez: Help me!

Grant's face changed.

Martin Hale: That's not him!

Officer Martinez: Help me! Please!

Grant fired toward the voice.

Muzzle flashes illuminated pieces of a body moving behind the machinery.

Something pale beneath all three.

The creature hit Grant from the side and hurled him into a pipe.

Martin ran toward a cry from deeper in the room.

He found Sophie Landers from Apartment 5A hiding behind an old water tank.

She had blood on her forehead.

Martin Hale: Sophie? Sophie!

She recoiled.

Sophie Landers: Stay away from me! Stay away!

Martin stopped.

Martin Hale: It's really me. Please, you have to believe me!

Sophie Landers: It said that already!

Martin kept his distance.

Martin Hale: Listen...please listen to me. Your kitchen sink burst last month.

Sophie Landers: Everybody heard about that.

Martin Hale: You called me an incompetent asshole because I shut off the wrong valve.

Sophie stared.

Martin Hale: You apologized afterward. I told you I've been called worse.

Her eyes filled with relief.

Sophie Landers: Martin.

He helped her stand.

Footsteps approached behind him.

Another Sophie emerged from the darkness.

Martin froze.

Second Sophie: Martin, don't listen to her.

Sophie Landers: That's it.

Second Sophie: No. That's it.

Martin looked between them.

Both had the same injury.

Same clothes.

Same frightened breathing.

Martin Hale: Oh no. 

Second Sophie: Martin, I don't know what I can say to make you believe me, but I don't want you to die! Please, believe me!

Martin Hale: ...Aw hell.

Martin shoved his Sophie aside.

Its jaw opened sideways.

Skin split along the cheek.

Its body unfolded.

For the first time, Martin saw what had been living inside Harrowgate.

It stood almost eight feet tall when fully extended, although its spine remained bent from years of moving through confined spaces. Pale gray skin stretched over a narrow but powerful frame. Its limbs were disproportionately long, ending in hooked fingers suited for climbing concrete and gripping inside maintenance shafts.



Its head was worse.

Layers of soft tissue moved across the front of its skull like overlapping masks. Human features appeared within those layers only briefly before disappearing again.

The creature screamed through several voices at once.

Sophie stumbled.

Martin grabbed a length of pipe and swung.

The creature caught it.

It threw him across the room.

Martin hit concrete hard enough to lose his breath.

Sophie ran.

The creature went after her.

Martin grabbed its ankle.

It kicked him away.

Sophie reached the stairwell.

The creature caught her before she could climb.

Martin saw an old fire axe mounted inside a broken emergency cabinet.

He pulled it free.

Martin Hale: Hey!

The creature turned.

Martin charged.

The axe bit into its shoulder.

Black blood struck the wall.

The creature shrieked.

Martin swung again.

It caught his wrist.

One claw struck across his chest.

Martin slammed into a support pillar.

Pain exploded through his shoulder.

The axe fell away.

Sophie screamed.

The creature approached Martin wearing his own face again.

Creature Martin: I'm Martin Hale.

Martin tried to stand.

His arm barely moved.

Creature Martin: I'm Martin Hale.

The thing crouched in front of him.

Martin spat blood.

Martin Hale: You're not even close.

The creature raised one claw.

A metallic impact echoed from somewhere behind it.

A single heavy step.

The creature stopped.

Martin looked past it.

A figure stood at the entrance to the sub basement.

Black armor.

Sharp silver gray plating.

Thin red lines running across the body.

A helmet with long angular fins rising from either side of the head.

Bright cyan eyes burned through the darkness.



Martin forgot the pain in his shoulder.

The creature slowly turned.

For the first time since Martin had encountered it, the thing stepped backward.

The armored man looked at Martin.

Martin Hale: Who are you?

The figure's voice came through the helmet, low and perfectly human.

Mysterious Figure: Can you move?

Martin blinked.

Martin Hale: What?

Mysterious Figure: Can you move?

Martin pushed himself against the wall.

Martin Hale: Yeah.

The figure looked toward Sophie.

Mysterious Figure: The name is Graiver. Get her upstairs for me, would you?

The creature attacked.

Graiver moved.

The first punch caught the monster beneath the jaw and lifted it completely off the floor.

Martin had heard about the things happening in Hanta City and Avalon. This was different, more visceral. 



Seeing something like that from fifteen feet away was also dangerous.

The impact shook dust from the ceiling.

The creature hit the wall, recovered almost instantly and rushed Graiver on all fours.

Graiver blocked one claw.

The second struck his shoulder armor and threw sparks.

He twisted the creature's arm and drove his knee into its chest.

Bone cracked.

The monster screamed with Rachel's voice.

Martin Hale: It copies people. Faces, voices, anything it sees!

Graiver nodded.

The creature changed again.

Its body contracted.

Black armor began forming across its skin.

Martin stared.

It was trying to copy Graiver.

The transformation stopped halfway.

The flesh across its torso convulsed.

Armor like shapes formed and immediately collapsed.

The creature shrieked.

Graiver's head tilted slightly.

Even he seemed surprised.

The monster tried again.

Nothing.

Whatever Graiver was, the creature couldn't reproduce it.

That frightened the creature.

Martin could see it.

It abandoned the imitation and attacked wildly.

Graiver met it head on.

His fighting style was brutal. He was there to kill it, violently if needed. 

The creature climbed a pillar and launched itself from the ceiling.

Graiver caught it in midair.

They crashed through one of the abandoned boilers.

The creature's claw raked across Graiver's chestplate.

Sparks burst, and Graiver staggered.

The creature lunged again.

A dark blade extended from Graiver's right forearm with a mechanical snap and cut across the creature's chest.

Black fluid sprayed across the boiler.

The monster screamed.

Faces rippled across its head.

It attacked again.

Graiver ducked beneath one claw and drove the forearm blade through its side.

The monster twisted and slammed him into the wall.

Graiver lost the blade.

It retracted as he fell.

The creature went for Sophie.

Martin grabbed the fire axe.

His shoulder screamed in protest.

He swung anyway.

The blade struck the monster's leg.

It turned toward him.

Martin Hale: I'm getting really tired of my face!

The creature became Martin again.

Graiver hit it from behind hard enough to send it rolling across the floor.

Graiver: Take her upstairs, now!

Graiver's glowing eyes shifted toward the creature.

He pulled Sophie toward the stairwell.

They had almost reached it when Sophie stopped.

Sophie Landers: Martin.

He followed her gaze.

The creature's real body had finally emerged completely.

Its face peeled open.

Underneath the stolen features was a narrow skull with a circular mouth lined in hooked teeth.

It charged Graiver.

Red light traveled along the thin lines across Graiver's armor.

Graiver ran forward.



He planted one foot against the broken boiler and launched himself upward.

His right leg ignited with white and red energy.

He twisted.

The kick struck the creature directly in the chest.

The impact produced a deep crack that Martin felt through the floor.

The monster flew backward.

For an instant every stolen face appeared across its body at once.

Then white cracks spread across its skin.

The creature collapsed inward.

Not a giant explosion.

No fireball through the building.

Its body broke apart into black ash and pale fragments that struck the floor and stopped moving.

Silence filled the sub basement.

Graiver landed on one knee.

For several seconds he didn't move.

Graiver slowly stood.

Martin Hale: You okay?

Graiver looked at him.

Graiver: Are you?

Martin almost laughed.

Martin Hale: Not particularly.

Graiver approached the remains.

He crouched.

Examined them.

Martin Hale: You know what that thing was?

Graiver didn't answer immediately.

Graiver: Yes.

Martin Hale: Care to tell me?

Graiver: No.

Martin stared at him as he began to leave.

Martin Hale: Who are you?

The armored figure continued toward the darkness beyond the boilers.

Martin followed several steps.

Martin Hale: Are you with the EDF?

No answer.

Graiver disappeared behind a support column.

Martin hurried after him.

Nothing.

No door.

No access shaft large enough to explain where he had gone.

Just empty concrete.

Sophie reached Martin.

Sophie Landers: Where did he go?

Martin stared into the darkness.

Martin Hale: I have no idea.

Morning arrived quietly.

The rain stopped shortly after sunrise.

Harrowgate Apartments remained surrounded by police vehicles, medical units and biological containment crews. The sub basement was sealed while specialists collected what remained of the creature.

The evidence removed any possibility that Martin had imagined the night's events.

The creature had been real.

That part, at least, could be explained.

Sophie sat across from Martin inside an ambulance while a paramedic wrapped his shoulder.

Sophie Landers: You look terrible.

Martin Hale: Everybody keeps telling me that.

Sophie Landers: Maybe there's a reason.

She moved closer and showed him her phone.

Someone from an apartment across the street had filmed the exterior during the police response.

The video was only eleven seconds long.

Graiver stood on the roof of Harrowgate.

The figure looked down toward the street.



The person filming zoomed in.

Graiver stepped backward.

Gone.

Martin smiled despite himself.

Sophie Landers: What?

Martin Hale: Nothing.

He replayed the footage.

Sophie Landers: He saved us.

Martin nodded.

That much was true.

Sophie Landers: Think we'll ever see him again?

Martin paused the video.

The strange armored face stared back at him.

Martin Hale: Honestly, I hope not. If we see HIM...that means something horrible is about to happen.

Sophie couldn't argue with that.

### CLASSIFIED INCIDENT FILE 001

**LOCATION:** Harrowgate Apartments, Westhaven
**STATUS:** Contained
**CASUALTIES:** Seven confirmed deceased and four recovered alive
**ANOMALOUS ORGANISM:** Destroyed
**UNIDENTIFIED ARMORED SUBJECT:** Confirmed

**DESIGNATION: GRAIVER**

**AFFILIATION: UNKNOWN**

**IDENTITY: UNKNOWN**

**ORIGIN: UNKNOWN**

**METHOD OF ARRIVAL: UNKNOWN**

**FILE STATUS: CLASSIFIED**

**END**

Last edited by Machismo (Yesterday 6:07 am)