Chapter 4: Chapter 3

Among the industrialism and smog, small corners of the slums retained some of their original beauty, the buildings tall and cramped but their brickwork refined. From before the mines had bled the earth, refineries hiding the real sky behind toxic clouds, turning sunlight into lusterless emeralds glittering above. Every second could be mistaken for night, buzzing street lamps illuminating the dilapidated roads at all hours.

Colin pressed his head against the buggy’s window, feeling the vehicle’s rumbling engine as Kevin drove. It had been too long since he’d smoked, Colin decided, his head aching but the air too toxic to consider stripping the mask from his sweaty face. Instead, he fingered the rose etched into his lighter, tracing the familiar pattern with his thumb. It was a comfort. A reminder.

“Stay sharp, partner,” Kevin called, waking Colin from his stupor. “We just crossed into ghoul central. Keep an eye out for any movement, while I try to find us a place to park where this thing won’t get broken into.”

Colin watched the streets as they whizzed by, empty save for a few haggard souls trudging off to who-knows-where. He checked his watch. 2:12. The factories were in full swing, pumping out pollution round the clock, another ten hours before the current shift switched over. Anyone outside were either wheeling carts full of bodies, or unemployed and looking for the scraps of scraps before returning to whatever hovel they called home.

Zone eight. Out of the twenty-three districts making up Ebonpoint’s slums, this one stood like a rotting limb. Housing the only proper cemetery and crematorium in the pit, graverobbing and ghoul infestations tended to run rampant, both types of monsters drawn to the inert flesh. The sewers were often flooded and electricity was sparse, barely keeping the flickering street lamps on.

The buggy screeched to a halt, Kevin patting the steering wheel. “Alright, we’re here. Wake up, princess, it’s time to work.”

Colin drug himself from the buggy. The smell of rot and cooking flesh wafted through his mask, the crematorium’s pyre a lighthouse amidst the toxin-tinted darkness. “I hate this place,” Colin groaned, following Kevin as he took the lead. Ash and soot crunched underfoot, particles falling from the piles of burning bodies, the flaming stacks kept perpetually lit by the corpses carted in.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like anywhere else down here is any better,” Kevin replied, looking around as they passed through the open chain link. The fenced off area lacked any guards, corpses stripped of possessions before being tossed into one of the dozen piles. On the opposite side of this courtyard stood the mortuary, separating the crematorium and the cemetery, where the few people who could afford a headstone were buried. Two mercenary guards stood vigil on either side of the mortuary’s entrance, their ragged attire and mismatched weapons a far cry from what the Enforcers armed themselves with.

Men and women in boiler suits stumbled from cart to cart, trading the bodies for measly change, the collectors often picking the pockets of the dead before trading them in. The detectives ignored the scavengers and boiler suits, the guards barely acknowledging them after seeing their badges. The double doors swung on rusted hinges, the iron doors resisting as Kevin shoved them open, Colin slipping through before they clanged shut.

The mortuary was a moderate improvement, concrete walls blocking out the clouds of death swirling outside, though a lack of ventilation kept the air a step behind breathable. Threadbare lab coats and gas masks replaced the boiler suits, the three bearing such attire idle. Not a word was spoken between the trio.

Crossing his arms, Kevin nudged his chin towards the mortuary workers. “For all the ghoul sightings this place has reportedly seen, they sure don’t look all that bothered.”

Shrugging, Colin made his way for the building’s exit. “They’re inside most of the time, it seems. Besides, ghouls typically have to be desperate to attack something living, especially when there’s so much cooked meat just sitting around for them.” He caught the lab coats eyeing them up, a voracious look glittering in their black-rimmed eyes. “Honestly, I’m more worried about the people down here than a ghoul,” Colin whispered.

Through the reception area, the detectives marched into the room-lined hall, shouldering past menials in their haste. Lacking resources, the building had been designed compact: a small reception room, and a single hallway filled with cheap doors of tin, each leading to a different function required to running the mortuary’s grim affairs. They ignored all of these, pushing through the second set of double doors set in the back of the squat estate.

Stone steps met their charge, keeping boots from touching soil for the first few steps, stopping only three meters out before the cemetery opened up to them. Black iron fenced in the area, slabs of stone stuck rigid in the ground, names and dates scrawled into their surfaces. A single shack stood to the side of the dead earth, corrugated metal warding off wind and rain. Neither detective thought it would hold up long against a serious assault on its walls.

“Think he’s in his little shack?” Kevin asked, already making his way towards it.

Colin growled, fingers running against the pack of cigs in his coat pocket. “Better be, for his sake.” Before stomping after his partner, Colin caught notice of a shadow moving near the fences, stopping a moment to watch. Small and slender, walking up and down the length of the fence, their features hidden behind the ever-present smog. Shaking his head, he followed after Kevin. Whatever they were doing, it wasn’t his problem.

Kevin was rapping his knuckles against the shack’s door by the time Colin caught up, his voice echoing through the empty cemetery. “Hey, anyone in there? I’m detective Kevin Pugh, with my partner Colin Black.” No one answered, so he knocked harder, nearly yelling now. “We’re with the EPD! We have questions regarding your recent ghoul problem!”

A few more seconds passed in silence before the door’s latch clicked, and the door creaked open. A woman peered out, wrinkled and hunched, strands of gray framing her square face. Eyeing them up, she nodded to herself before swinging the door open. “So I see. Took you lousy suits long enough to get down here!” Huffing, the old woman threw her door open, “Well, come in already. No point in you boys standing out there.”

Tottering back into the shack, the woman sat down in a cheap-looking chair, more a crate with some wooden boards hammered to form its back. Aside from the chair, a moldy bed, some cans of expired food, and a small stack of clothes were all the amenities available to the crone. A typical fedora sat on the stacked clothes, made to go with a three-piece suit, but long ago disposed of by its original user.

Very little in the slums wasn’t a hand-me-down of some kind, Colin thought.

“Stop gawking at a lady’s home, and speak already,” The woman demanded.

Kevin cleared his throat, “So, like I said, we’re here to ask about the ghoul sightings you reported to the Enforcers. Their records were… lacking, to say the least. If it’s alright with you, we’d like to hear the full details of what you’ve been seeing.”

Pulling out a notepad and pen, Colin steps forward, more out of habit than anything else. For having lived in the slums, the old crone had a surprising set of lungs on her. He caught himself tapping his pen against the notepad’s clean paper, clenching his jaw to steady his hand.

Adjusting herself, the woman cleared her throat. “Now, my sight ain’t exactly what it used to be, mind you, but I know what I saw. Even under its robes, I saw. The thing had arms so long it was dragging them across the ground, with big, webbed claws that scooped out dirt like they were shovels.” Mimicking the motion, she threw her arms up towards the ceiling, “And then just scooped up the corpse. Bloody thing leapt over the fence and ran away without any kind of trouble.”

Nodding along to her story, Kevin spoke his next words with a cautious drawl. “Where were you exactly when you saw this ghoul?”

“From inside here, of course! Saw it through my window, I did.” Leaning forward a bit, the old crone pointed her wrinkled hand towards a small window above her bed. Two wooden boards covered it, allowing only the tiniest sliver of light to seep through. There was no glass covering it, the window simply a hole that had been punched through the corrugated metal. “I’ve seen it show up several times, pulling out a new body every few nights. I’ve had to start filling the holes with the buggers that should be going in the piles out front. Just imagine what it might do to me if it runs out of easy meat!”

Kevin walked over to the window, peering through the hole. “And you say this ghoul is always in robes?”

“The same ones every time.” She mimicked stabbing something with a knife, “Red as blood they are, with a hood covering its head. But it’s the same long arms, and they show up at the same time. The only problem is that they don’t show up every night, or even every other night. Can’t even call the bloody Enforcers to take care of it because you never know when it’ll show! Once it came three nights in a row, and another time it went two weeks without showing.”

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Colin finally spoke up, reviewing his notes. “Do you think this… ghoul, is coming here during the nights it can’t find anyone to eat on the streets?”

“How should I know?” Throwing her arms up in exasperation, the woman through Colin an incredulous look. “You’re the detective, that’s your job to figure that out.”

“Ma’am, please-”

“Colin! Movement outside.” Kevin called, having taken a second look through the window. Rushing out of the shack, revolver drawn, he started shouting. “You! Stop right there!”

Colin rushed after him, storing the notebook in his jacket. The cold air hit him like a flurry of needles. Refreshing, compared to the stuffy confines of the woman’s shack, he thought briefly. Kevin was pointing his gun at a young human standing in the middle of the graveyard, shovel stuck partially in the ground. Still the early afternoon, but perpetually dark, Colin could only make out that they had normal human proportions. They wore a hood, but their clothes were otherwise a very plain set of shirt and pants.

“Shit!” The graverobber cursed, leaving their shovel and running off towards the fence. Kevin and Colin made to chase them down, slowing only momentarily as the graverobber hopped clean over the fence.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Kevin yelled, rushing headfirst for a rusting part of the fence. Bracing his shoulder, the large man burst through the weak chain link. “Come on! Don’t let them get away.”

Huffing and puffing by the time he pushed through the rupture, Colin’s lungs were near bursting as he ran down the street after Kevin. The graverobber had a head start, but their legs were slender and short compared to the detectives’. Kevin was catching up fast, only a few steps behind when the culprit ducked under his grasp, running down a cramped alley.

Colin lost sight of the chase, Kevin disappearing into the alley, a loud crash echoing down the confined path. Turning the corner, he caught sight of an upended trash can, its contents spilled across the molding ground. Jumping over rotting food and coagulating liquids, Colin charged down the alley, following Kevin’s roars through the bending labyrinth of clustered buildings.

The same green tint covered everything, the smog slithering through cracks in the walls, an ever present filter for the industrial wasteland. So it was, only by the open space and creaking doorways of the old apartment complex, that Colin finally spotted his partner again.

Revolver drawn, Kevin was stomping up stone stairs to the second floor of apartment cubicles, still hollering. “Stop running, damn you!”

Picking up his own pace, Colin ran across the open courtyard, the lack of materials or landmarks disturbing in its emptiness, compared to the overwhelming clutter found across the rest of the slums. Thudding up the steps, he caught Kevin kicking one of the doors, leather against wood thumping through the calm air.

“Finally… caught… up,” Kevin grunted, each word emphasized with another kick. “Damn thing’s sturdier than it looks.”

“Let me try,” Colin said, pushing Kevin aside. Aiming his own revolver at the apartment’s doorknob, he pulled the trigger in one smooth motion, an explosion of gunpowder preceding the cacophonous ringing in their ears. The doorknob shattered, shrapnel flying, hot metal bouncing off the heavy leather of their trench coats.

Brushing the aftermath from his coat, Kevin shook his head, disgust lacing his words. “Warn me before you do that again. These clothes aren’t cheap.”

Fighting his own irritation, Colin pushed the door, swinging it open with ease. With a half flourish, he waved Kevin on in. “You first.”

Grunting as he moved past, Kevin stepped in with his weapon raised, sweeping the entryway. “Looks clear. They had plenty of time to escape, but be careful. Slummers don’t work together too often, but a handful of them lying in wait could spell serious trouble for us.”

“Not my first rodeo, Kevin. I’ll watch your back.” Colin kept a dozen-or-so paces behind his partner, giving Kevin space to maneuver, but also so their weight was more spread out over the creaking floorboards. Strips of moldy carpet mingled with the old wood, squishing underfoot as the floor switched between hard and soft surfaces. The fabric was spread out randomly, as though they had been tossed around the room without care.

Furnishing was light in the living quarters. A tattered, leather chair stained with blood and what Colin guessed to be some kind of alcohol, and an uneven coffee table were all that filled the room, yet it still felt cramped. The ceiling was low, and the walls tight, created for people kept small by a lack of proper nutrition. An oppressive atmosphere choked Colin’s nerves, ears straining for the slightest sound past the creaking and squishing echoing around them.

Kevin had almost cleared the room, making his way through a frame without a door, when Colin heard it. The quiet sighing of wood arrising from the subtle shift in weight. He tried to yell out, to warn Kevin, but his words caught in his throat, a chair swinging wide around the corner. Kevin raised his arms up just in time to protect his face, stumbling back as the cheap wood exploded against leather sleeves, sending his revolver flying from his grasp.

Stepping to the side, Colin raised his gun, aiming for the assailant. They were fast, ducking down before he could get a beat, moving so that Kevin was kept between them. Still recovering from the chair nearly colliding with his face, Kevin was unable to defend himself as the first blows hit his gut in quick succession. Reeling, Kevin took several steps back, creating space to let Colin step around.

Seeing them clearly for the first time, Colin hesitated. They were smaller than he’d initially thought, clothes hanging loose on a wiry frame. A threadbare hood cast their face in shadow, but snow-white hair wisped out from beneath its fraying hem. Their hands came up to strike, pale as death and just as sharp. A thin webbing linked the first knuckles of their fingers together, and finally the detective caught the red glare of their eyes.

“Half-breed!” Colin yelled, the half-ghoul, half-human jumping then, ramming their body into Kevin’s. The larger man flew back, barreling into Colin, keeping the grip on his weapon until the half-breed swung for his arm, claws catching the revolver’s barrel and knocking it from his hand. “Gah!” A jolt of pain ran down his hand as the pine grip was torn from his fingers.

Kicking out into Kevin’s ribs, the half-breed sent the two detectives further back, tripping as they collided with the coffee table. Colin’s back met the foot of the armchair as Kevin rolled to the side, groaning as he struggled back to his feet. “Damn it all,” Kevin said, swinging his arm wide as he turned back towards the half-breed.

The swing was slow and clumsy, the larger detective fighting through bruised ribs and fractured forearms. Faster and smaller, the half-breed ducked under the swing, swinging their leg into Kevin’s ankle. Thrown from his feet, Kevin tumbled ungracefully to the, catching himself on hands and knees, fingers curling into the squelching carpet as he fought to regain his composure. A swift kick into his ribs sent the detective down, gasping for air as he clutched his abdomen.

The half-breed was huffing, staring down at Kevin, waiting to see if he’d get back up. It was this mistake that gave Colin the chance to attack, throwing himself into the half-breed, taking them both to the ground. “What the-?” The half-breed managed to shout, their voice deep but feminine. With his arms around their neck in a chokehold, and legs wrapped around their waist, Colin only had to suffer a few misaligned elbow strikes before the gasping slummer relented, arm falling limp at their side.

Waiting only a second more, Colin released the half-breed, pushing the smaller figure off him and hurrying over to Kevin. His partner was still on the ground, grasping his ribs and heaving. “Get… my gun,” Kevin managed, “And go get… the car.”

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