As Trish stepped inside the dimly lit store, the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and dust. She and Damian had co-opted this place for their own needs. Neither really stayed long nor cleaned so dust was bound to form.
The presence of the Dark Stalker was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Trish was attuned to it being from the same source. She focused her senses, reaching out mentally to the creature, and called it forth. There was a faint shimmer in the air, a disturbance in the light, and then the Dark Stalker appeared, dropping its camouflage to reveal its grotesque yet powerful form. It moved silently, its gait smooth and predatory as it approached her.
Trish showed no fear as a superior minon she had every right to command the stalker. With a strange calmness, she extended her hand, allowing it to shift into biomass, a trait she had inherited from the source Damian that allowed her to communicate with the creature. The transformation was smooth, almost second nature now, and as her hand made contact with the Dark Stalker, a connection was established.
In a matter of seconds, Trish communicated everything the creature needed to know. She conveyed the situation, detailing Amanda’s potential danger and the importance of finding her. With her other hand, she retrieved a small item from her pocket—a handkerchief that Amanda had used, still faintly carrying her scent. Trish pressed it against the Dark Stalker, allowing the creature to imprint the scent into its memory. The Dark Stalker’s senses were far superior to hers; it would easily be able to track Amanda through her scent if it got close.
“Find her,” Trish instructed, her voice steady. “Track her down, and if she’s in trouble, help her escape. But be discreet—no one can know you’re there.”
The Dark Stalker’s body tensed, its muscles coiling like springs as it absorbed her commands. Trish could feel the understanding pass between them. The stalker had received its orders and it would complete them even if it needed to die in order to do so. Once she released her touch, the creature faded from view, its camouflage reactivating. It became one with the environment, disappearing from sight as it moved toward the door.
Trish watched as the door creaked open, allowing the invisible predator to slip out into the night. With the creature gone, Trish turned her attention back to the other task at hand. The store was filled with supplies, some of which had been left behind when the original owner had been captured. She moved through the aisles, scanning the shelves for the instruments she needed to concoct the drug that could possibly neutralize the substances in Sasha’s blood.
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It wasn’t a simple task. Sasha’s tar-like blood was unique, replicating the drugs and incorporating them within it rather than purging them. Trish had been working on a formula that could break down the compounds without harming the host. She found the vials and syringes she needed, carefully selecting the most sterile and undamaged ones. Her movements were precise, honed by years of medical training.
Once she had gathered all the instruments, she began searching for the drugs required for her formula. Some were common and easily found in any pharmacy. Others were more specialized, meant for rare conditions and difficult to find. She methodically packed them away, ensuring everything was secure and ready for transport.
The Dark Stalker slithered silently through the streets, driven by primal instincts and an overwhelming urge to spread its infection. But that urge was held in check by the commands of its creator, Damian. Trish a superior had given it a task, and its simple mind was bound to fulfill it, even as its very nature fought against the restrictions placed upon it.
Devoid of eyes, the Dark Stalker had no concept of sight. Instead, it navigated the world through a highly developed sonar, emitting barely audible sounds that bounced off the surroundings, creating a mental map of its environment. The city was a cacophony of noise and motion, with the echoes of people and buildings. It moved with eerie precision, avoiding obstacles and slipping unnoticed by those it passed.
But sonar alone was not enough to find its target. The Dark Stalker’s sense of smell was its most valuable asset in this hunt. The scent of Amanda was the elusive thread it needed to follow. The scent of the handkerchief provided by Trish had given it the necessary reference, a target to find in a sea of alien smells.
Yet, despite its efforts, the creature found no trace of Amanda in the clusters of people it passed. It navigated through alleys and side streets, pausing to sniff the air whenever it came across a group of humans. Each time, the result was the same—the target was not among them. The scent of fear, sweat, and blood filled its nostrils, but none belonged to its target. The creature’s instincts urged it to lash out, to infect and spread its essence, but it resisted, held back by the commands imprinted in its primitive brain.
Its hunt continued, relentless and tireless. A few hours passed, though time held no meaning for the Dark Stalker. It moved with single-minded focus, a silent predator in a city full of prey. But the scent it sought still remained elusive.
Then, as it crossed an old bridge in a quieter part of the Neon District, the Dark Stalker caught a faint whiff of something familiar. It paused, its large body coiled tightly as it focused all its senses on that single, delicate scent. The air was thick with the smell of oil, rust, and stagnant water, but beneath it all, the creature detected the trace it had been searching for—the scent of its target Amanda, carried faintly in the air.
The scent was faint, almost indistinguishable from the background noise of the city, but it was there. The Dark Stalker shifted its direction, moving toward the source of the smell. It slipped past the soldiers guarding the area, following the scent as it drifted along the old bridge to the Warren. The creature’s mind registered the trail; the scent was old, lingering as if Amanda had passed by some time ago.