Chapter 2

The hallways are lined with a plush burgundy carpet decorated with fancy squares that resemble interlocking rings. On one side of the elevator, there are three doors; on the other side, there is a door which has a neon exit sign above it, clearly indicating the way to the stairs.
As I approach the door where the asset is supposed to be, my uneasiness intensifies, and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I glance back and see Cato signaling Jonas and Chani to take defensive positions.
“Cato…” I start to say, but before I can finish, the door on my right swings open unexpectedly. An elderly woman stands there, staring me down. I lock eyes with her, unsure of what to do. She’s hunched over, wrapped in scarves, and leaning heavily on a walking stick.
“Kto ty?” She barks, squinting at me. Who are you? in Russian.
I know a bit of Russian but not enough to hold a conversation. So I try for a friendly smile but she sizes me up and then her eyes widen as they fall on the rest of my team. Oh shit! She’s an unfamilar!
The old lady screeches, bares her teeth and lunges right for my throat!
I instinctively jerk away, barely dodging her suddenly sharp, clawed fingers, and crash into the opposite wall. But she closes in fast. I duck a vicious swipe, shoving her back with all my strength to create some space.
“Oh shit! The Stairs!” I hear Jonas yell.
Gunfire erupts behind me, but I can’t take my eyes off this crazed grandma as she snarls like a rabid dog. I back away, and two thugs suddenly appear from the open doorway. Uh oh! Grandma had company!
“Cato?” I shout, but the noise behind me tells me Cato and the team are busy. I’m on my own, and for the first time, I feel a tinge of fear creeping in. But I’m a Walker, and fear is a luxury I can’t afford.
The three unfamiliars charge at me all at once, and my fight training kicks in. I draw an Uzi from where it hangs in my side holster and my blade— perfect for close combat— and I slash grandma across the face, sending her staggering into her companions, buying me a few seconds.
I cock my arm and throw my blade into one thug’s eye, then swing a roundhouse kick that connects with the grandma’s jaw, breaking it. As she falls back, the second thug jumps over her, reaching for my throat. I sidestep him easily and blast half my magazine into the back of his head.
Just as I turn around, Grandma is somehow back on her feet, even with her jaw hanging off in a disturbing way.
“Sorry, Grandma,” I mumble as I empty the rest of my clip right into her face. Turning back, I see Cato and the others picking off two more bogeys with headshots. The hallway is already hazy with gun smoke and the bursts of light coming from the downed unfamiliars which tend to bleed lumen when they were hurt badly enough. Eventually, they disintegrate in a flash of light.
“Kid?” Cato calls, looking straight at me. “Grab the asset.”
As Chani reloads her weapons, Jonas heads down the hall to secure the exit. “I didn’t sense them,” she says, frustration colouring her voice. “Why didn’t I sense them?”
“Since when did these NPC’s start setting traps?” Jonas queried.
I agree with Jonas. Unfamiliars are strong but they lack any fight technique whatsoever or tactics, relying on their numbers and strength to get the job done. If this was them attempting to set a trap then, were they learning?
Plus something’s definitely off if Chani isn’t picking up on anything. She’s the team’s holyman with the best light affinity and sensitivity, trained for moments like this.
“Cato?” Chani says.
Cato doesn’t reply; he’s too busy glaring at me.
“Boy, get that door open, stat” he barks.
I hurry down toward the asset's door, slowing briefly to pull my knife out of the first thug’s disintegrating eye socket. I reach for the door handle, ready to breach, but then I hesitate.
“Uh… Cato?” I say, my unease growing by the second. Cato quickly comes over, and I show him what I’ve noticed: the asset's door swings open with just a slight push.
“It was already open,” I say. “Do you think our intel was bad?”
“Our intel is never bad,” Cato growls, hefting his rifle and stepping into the apartment. I follow him, trading my Uzi for a silenced Beretta, and automatically check the corners as we both move in. The place is modern and stylish, lit only by the open door leading back to the hallway.
Cato signals me to go left while he splits right. I step carefully, staying alert for any surprises. There’s an archway that leads to a single door, which I guess is the master bedroom. I tighten my grip on my gun and slowly turn the door handle. The door swings open easily, and I step into the dim room.
“Hello?” I call softly. “Mr. Carreras?”
No response. But I can see a dim shape on the bed. I move to the side of the bed, gun still ready, and flick on the bedside lamp sitting on the small table. The sight before me is so gruesome that I wish I could just pluck out my eyes. But I can’t so I just stare in horror.
As I back out of the room slowly, unable to tear my gaze away from the horrific scene on the bed.
I collide with Cato as I back out the door.
“watch where you’re going…” He stops mid-sentence when he sees the figure in the bed. “Holy Mother of God,” he says, clearly shocked.
His reaction snaps me out of my daze, and I start to size up the situation. From the looks of it, the asset had been torn apart. His limbs were tied to the bedposts with thick rawhide, and most of his torso was just… gone.
What remained was soaked in purple ectoplasm—splattered across the walls, the sheets, and, I now realize, some of it is on me. If I wasn’t technically a shade, I’d probably be puking out my guts.
But that wasn’t even the most interesting thing. I take a tentative step forward and run my hand over the glowing runes that have been carved over every inch of the bed frame. What the hell is this?
“The 2nd death” Cato whispers fervently. “It can’t be”
I turn when Cato places an insistent hand on my arm.
Cato’s voice is much lower than I have ever heard it. “Kid,” he says, trembling, his habitual smile no longer on his face “we need to leave. Now.”