Day 6
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I open my eyes and stare at a faraway metal ceiling that rings something in me; I know I've been here before. This is Andrey's warehouse, without a doubt.
Cold air passes me by, freezing the ends of my body faster than I can adapt. For a moment, it is like an alert rushes me to run away from danger, and so I attempt to move only to find my arms and legs restrained to a metal table.
The rope tying me down hurts my skin, cutting some of the blood flow and making the process of freezing faster, especially to my fingers.
Everything that happened until this moment is clear to me. The killer got me in the end, played me like a damn fool, and I fell for it; dammit, there isn't one thing that I can do, is it?
Plastic tubes carved into my skin remind me of the pictures of both Melinda and Andrey's bodies; following it up, the tubes connect to a machine that I can only assume will drain me to death soon.
"Oh, so it finally awakes; your heart is beating rather strongly, Olivia Rivers. I'm sorry if I'm scaring you."
Doctor Verso speaks in an emotionless voice; the killer I've been going after all this time stands next to me, wearing a blank expression that confuses me as it goes against what I expected to meet.
He does little to hide how sick he looks while working on the equipment connected to me. The smell of rot coming from him is pungent and nauseating, making me want to plug my nose.
"You seem surprised? Does my way of acting throw you off? I'm sure you expected something different. I'm sorry to say, but when you start getting close to death, you lose the appetite to wear a mask. I can feel it coming for me—life slipping away from this decaying body—and so I think you can understand that I'm in no mood to keep acting as if I'm crazy. There's not a need for that anymore."
"You are..." For a moment I think of addressing the smell and the clear fact that he isn't fairing well, but, right now, I don't need to sympathize with his pain. I need to know everything—all of the whys. "I do have a theory of my own, but I want to hear from you. Why did you kill Andrey and Melinda Kolesov?"
"It surprises me to see you're not so worried about your own situation, or maybe answers are more worth to you. Not that it surprises me; you remind me of myself. Well, I guess it doesn't hurt to tell you the reason why."
He stops tinkering with the equipment beside me and stops to sit on the edge of the metal table, his eyes wandering around the windows in the ceiling, giving some view of the starry night sky.
"I killed them because they were going to take my job away from me. A job that I gave everything to nourish. Can you imagine? Never having someone to share the pain, a laugh, nothing, just pure, crushing loneliness, sleeping countless nights in the cold lab just so you can feel close to something. And then, one day, a rich prick walks through the lab's door like she owns the place, carrying a load of cash just to take everything from you."
For a moment, it seems like anger is about to take him, only for him to shake his head and continue acting as if he is already dead. Emotionlessly, he continues to tell the story.
"Because of them, I became an 'unnecessary waste of resources.' The lab wanted to pull the plug on my life project, leaving me with nothing. That's why I went there to kill myself. Funny, even when I was about to put a bullet in my skull, I felt nothing, but then a monster appeared from the window exactly as I was about to do it. As she pinned me down, I remember how I laughed truthfully for the first time since childhood; the strangeness of the situation was intriguing to me. Perhaps I had already lost my mind. Interestingly, she laughed too, sweetly, before calling me a 'crazy bastard' and giving me this second chance. Power, to take what I believed I wanted, to exert vengeance upon who did me wrong, only to get myself killed in the process, it seems. The funny thing is that killing them wasn't even satisfactory."
"I...I see now, you don't feel a thing, do you? That's why you wanted to act crazy, so maybe you could trick yourself into it." I say genuinely, trying my best to understand the mind behind this man. "But it didn't work, did it?"
"Yes, as expected, you do understand." It is strange to see how he smiles, as if we are close friends talking in a bar after drinking together. "I feel embarrassed of the way I acted these last days; I almost managed to forget the only thing that mattered to me: science. My life project. In the end, all that will make me happy is finishing it."
Cracking his back loudly, the man rises to his feet and starts walking around the table, checking the equipment once more.
"I'll do to you what I did to Melinda, as, in the end, you and her have some special blood coursing through your veins, but, unlike her, you are the perfect test subject. I'm pretty sure you won't die like her; she was weak, born of riches, and spoiled rotten, now you? You are a lot stronger than she could ever be. Mind and body. Normally, from what I observed with my ghouls, the prolonged contact with the supernatural would drive one mad, but here you are, sane and as strong-willed as ever; just like I need you to be."
"You got me where you wanted; now, what do you plan on doing to me? What is that you're after with this bloody obsession of yours?" As I say those words, a memory comes back to me of when I was researching his name and started reading the lab's website. "Wait, you were working on a project about blood to fight diseases..."
"Publicly, yes, that was the cover. In reality? Months ago we received in the laboratory a strange and unique blood to test on, one that opened my eyes to the possibility of a new species capable of adapting to anything, of healing cancer even; that would have been my key to success, to feeling whole. Day after day I tirelessly worked on it, discovered a lot more than I should, and then the rest, you know. I didn't understand at the time that the blood was from a supernatural; I only did when I tested my own after being transformed. An interesting fact for you: when a bite happens, two things are injected into the subject's body. DNA material, which will make sure that when you transform, you do it into the exact type of monster who bit you, serving as a guide. The other thing is the one I'm calling 'the supernatural element': that is the one responsible for rearranging your genetic code and allowing the transformation to happen. Now imagine: What would happen if the DNA is killed off and only the supernatural element remains?"
"You're telling me that you believe there is a way to make people turn into a supernatural without needing to transform, right?" The disbelief look I give him is ignored, as he nods his head in response, confirming what I'm saying. "That's nothing short of crazy. If having a guide left you in this state, there's no way a normal person could survive the process without one."
"The process is unfortunately painful. I'll need to take half of your blood out of your body, mix it with the special one I turn Melinda's onto—full of nutrients and antibiotics—and then pump you back up. That would only leave the bite to complete the process. If I don't bite you, you'll die because of the super-modified blood, so once I start, there's no turning back."
The more I hear him talking, the more I realize he isn't well in the head; he says it was an act, a mask he wore, but all that he did until now was too real. Maybe he is playing himself again, trying to justify everything, so in the end, it wasn't all in vain. He is, indeed, crazy.
"Before you do anything, I want to ask something of you."
I understand there isn't a way out of this, and, too, I know I have no power here. He will do whatever he pleases anyway, but if I'm going to die, I need to make sure of one thing.
"Promise me that you won't go after anyone else. You do that, and I won't complain; I won't even move. I'll just accept to be part of this experiment, which should make things easier for you. Not a bad deal, right? You just need to promise me that I'm the last one who needs to die."
"Interesting, you either want to be a hero and understand that, to be one, you must sacrifice yourself for others, or you're as suicidal as I was."
He stares deeply into my eyes, searching for any shimmer of emotion that could lead him to find the answer.
"The way you jumped into the freezing waters where I disposed of the car tells me that the second option is closer to reality. Not that it matters; I'm not here to analyze you. I'll accept your deal. In the end, I'm sure you won't fail, so there's no need to go after others like you."
In light, slow steps that only serve to give me time to visualize what I'm about to go through, the sick man approaches the machine but stops short of pressing the button. Out of nowhere, his ears that rested quietly perk up, and the expression of nothingness he wore until this moment becomes sharper.
"The process will take all but a moment, and you're going to go through it alone; I have to make sure of something." Throwing those words to me, he clicks on a series of buttons that cause the machine to start softly rumbling.
Once the machine starts to beep and a painful sting begins to echo from my wrist, he steps back and, without ceremony, starts to walk away. "Do well on our deal, for your own good. Good things come for those who wait."
The loud sound of a door closing in the distance is the last thing I'm able to hear before everything starts to hurt like hell.
Unlike having your blood taken by a professional, the machine aggressively and impatiently sucks it out of me; the pain it makes me experience is enough to have me sinking my nails into anything in reach, which ends up being the same ropes that hold me down as I attempt not to scream out of the top of my lungs.
In the end, it is impossible to not react to it, turning the quiet warehouse into an echoing chamber of suffering and despair.
From one hundred to zero, everything starts to go dark; first, my extremities grow worryingly cold and tingly, and then lightheadedness hits like nothing I've felt before, making me feel sick and beckoning me ever closer to death's door.
Time feels like it doesn't exist; seconds turn into minutes, and minutes turn into eternity. To my luck—or the lack of it—things seem to get to a point at which the machine ceases its work and I'm giving a moment to breathe.
I sharply take in as much air as I can get while glancing at the only place my eyes can reach without having to force my head to turn: the ceiling.
Outside, a beautiful and peaceful night goes on as if I don't even exist, as if my suffering is not important. I guess that's just how the world works; cruelly, any hope I once had starts to die alongside me.
A beep, almost impossible to hear as my ears are unable to work on such a low supply of oxygen and blood, rings from the machine, an alert that the second part of the process is about to begin.
From the same tubes that took surely more than half of my blood, a pressure builds, hard enough to make me feel like my wrists are about to explode, and then blood begins unnaturally to flow back in.
My veins are pushed to their limit, expanding as far as humanly possible, only to attempt accommodating such an unexpected amount of liquid being injected back.
In my chest, the heart that had begun to beat so weakly starts to pound so strongly that all I can think about is how it doesn't explode right away.
Death, the mere thought of it, sincerely begins to look more appealing than ever; sadly, that option is taken away from reach.
Another small hell goes by, at least, this time faster; in what feels like an eternity, the machine rumbles stop and a screen on it starts to shine with life, hopefully indicating the end of this procedure.
I feel like spilling my guts on the floor, but I hold up, knowing that if that happens I'll just throw up over myself.
Even with the promise made before, now that the machine has done its job and the pain takes over me, a feeling insists that I get up and that I try, if only a little more.
Without any more choice, I answer to this feeling and attempt to free myself from the ropes holding me down. Probably from fighting against it a moment ago, the hold it has on me is a lot less tight, forming a gap wide enough to free one hand even if awkwardly.
Doing it with some clear difficulty, I'm quick to start searching for anything sharp enough to cut the rest of the ropes still holding me back, knowing that at any given second he can return.
For a moment, after looking around, I lose hope of finding anything that might do it, but that's when I gaze down towards a strange metal sound that reacts to me moving and notice that my duty belt is still with me, only missing the gun and taser, of course.
In a jump of faith, I open the one pouch that makes a sound, hoping that the killer was in a hurry when he kidnapped me and didn't search everything.
Using my fingers, I reach out inside of it and feel a cold handle press against my skin in response. Pulling the item out, I sigh in relief, seeing that he really didn't work everything out.
I click on the button on it, and the blade of the pocketknife extends immediately, sharp and ready for action.
It doesn't take much to free myself as the blade does quick work of the rope's material, and the moment I'm free, I gracelessly sit up and rub the aching marks on my wrist, feeling the weight of a planet worn down all the muscles I possess.
All blood flowing on my body serves as a chronometer, pulsating like a clock to let me know that time still moves—faster than ever. Anxiety and fear hurry me to get moving.
Carefully, I place a hand on the table and push myself off it in hopes of getting up, but, once my feet reach the floor, all nerves from below the waist activate and almost steal my consciousness as it apathetically overwhelms all senses I have.
Even if painful, I open my mouth and bite down my tongue so strongly that the bottom and top rows of teeth almost manage to meet in between the muscle's meat.
Because of it, I manage not to lose consciousness and find support on the table; a bad iron taste coats my mouth, which has me noticing how strangely it is that there's no pain from what I just did. The infernal ongoing feeling cast a long shadow on it.
"Come on, we can do it," I tell myself words that I'm starting to doubt as I rip off the tubes from my arms. "Just a little more and we are out of here; maybe we can order some pizza today and sleep on the couch. Mel would be so happy."
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In loud and heavy steps, accompanied by the trickling blood raining down from me, I somehow manage to stumble past the table, pushing it just enough to give myself a boost until reaching a wooden crate near the wall.
My vision starts to blur the moment I lay eyes on an item atop it; the forms of things become impossible to distinguish from each other, so with my hand, I swipe the crate's lid and feel a familiar aluminum grip with a rough texture.
Shadows move behind me; I'm able to hear someone climbing down something and reaching the spot behind me. Their shadow kills the moonlight reaching me, creating a deformed shadow that takes over the ground in front of me.
As a hand raises and tries reaching for my shoulder, I grasp the item tightly and spin around, successfully dodging the hold; to lift the heavy gun is agonizing, and when it is halfway there, a blood vessel in my nose bursts, distracting me enough to allow the hold I have on it to weaken.
The gun then slips off and falls to the ground with an annoying click, which leaves me to look at the figure defeated as blood flows off my nose. 'This is it,' I think to myself, almost laughing as not to cry. 'I'm dead.'
Suddenly, the figure's hands come to help me stand up gently before speaking; their touch is both warm and caring.
"Oh detective, what horrible things has he done to you?" By the tone and kind words, I recognize the person holding me up. "It is okay now; you can relax. We are going to get you out of here, to somewhere safe where you can heal."
From her side, a wall of a woman appears and looks me up and down, focusing on the wound in my wrists. "Hand her to me; I'll carry her outside."
"Nah, it's too late, guys; fuck. For someone who is a vampire for just a couple days at best, he sure is getting faster." The last agent jumps off the high shelf leading to the window in the ceiling that I'm sure was close when I looked at it not long ago. "We have about thirty seconds before that thing finds us. What do we do, boss? Should we run?"
"No, if we do that, then today will have been for naught—then the detective will have gotten hurt for naught—I can't let that be." Filled with determination, Dalia looks over to me and gives me a comforting nod. "This has gone too far; we fight and end this nonsense tonight. I'll try to devise a plan while keeping the detective safe; you two go there and, please, be careful."
As the orders are given, the warehouse's door is pushed open angrily, and from outside, a gangly man steps in, breathing in a labored manner.
"How can it be that EVERY TIME I'm close to succeeding, the three of you monsters have to interfere?" He stumbles close to one of the high shelves and leans against it, all to have a clear view of our faces. "That will be no more. I was going to let you live, but I'm not feeling benevolent anymore."
Shaking his head, the killer takes a vial from his pocket that I can barely see and breaks the lid before gulping the liquid it houses. The sound of bones breaking, skin deforming, and absolute agony reverberates all inside the warehouse, hurting my ears and forcing me to shield them.
His form changes, from a gangly man who hardly looks like he can defend himself to something bigger; arms and legs grow twice the size, ears extend, becoming strangely pointy, and any trace of humanity is lost in the process.
"It doesn't matter if I die here, not anymore." The man's voice rings deep and low, intimidatingly so. "This time, I'll kill all of you, so only my experiment and I will live enough to see the break of dawn."
"Okay, enough of this bullshit of experiment and craziness; you're not going anywhere with our detective." Yui cracks their knuckles, speaking in a now uncharacteristic seriousness. "Come on, Colie, let's end this shit show."
Colette takes a step forward that almost creates a hole in the ground in sheer strength, extending her claws and nodding in response.
"Lia, get the detective out of here; we'll meet you outside once we are done here."
Immediately after uttering those words, both agents waste no more precious seconds and jump into action, so fast that the night winds seem to favor them as equals.
A fight starts between the three, one that I can't watch in the current state, yet, by the sounds that follow, it doesn't give me too much confidence.
"Let me help you, detective; only a few steps before we are outside." Holding me carefully in a side hug, Dalia helps me move in the right direction. "I'll call our handler. I'll ask her to bring the medical team to pick you up; tomorrow everything that happened today will be all but a bad memory, I promise."
"Dalia...don't lie...they are...not winning, right?" Talking is more difficult than expected; the weakness devours everything I can offer to leave me powerless.
We stop, and I notice how she turns her head towards the fight, taking a long time before giving me an answer.
"Yes, detective, they are not fairing that well; our target did something to himself that has given him a monstrous strength." For a moment, the tone in her voice is soft and fragile, lost in deep worry for everyone. "But worry not, I'll have a plan in a minute, one that will turn the tides."
A plan; if that's what she needs, I need to help. Looking at the ceiling, a strange shape calls my attention.
"Another thing...is there a...hook...up in the ceiling?"
Again, the woman stops to search for what I'm asking and soon nods her head. "There is, but please don't lose your strength on feeble matters; focus on keeping your energies and consciousness."
"Ha...I'm sorry, I just can't...fight my own nature. Do me a favor, please...get him under that crane...I'll give the two of them...a...fighting chance."
I watch as she readies herself to refuse, to tell me to leave everything to her and rest, yet all of that dies down once I attempt to smile confidently—to try letting her know that this is what I want. If death is inevitable at this point, that means I have to ignore all pain and try one last time.
"I'm starting to realize this isn't a choice for me to make. If that's what you wish, detective, then I'll deposit my trust in you." She stops holding me up and gently points me in a specific direction, her hand lingering a little longer than necessary on my shoulder, to the point I can feel how it trembles weakly. "If your plan is to drop the crane's hook atop our target, you'll find the control near the door; I'll ask Yui to weaken the cable so when you use it, all the weight is dropped equally."
I can't help but smile again, seeing how easily she caught on to the plan. Not that it comes as a surprise; she is a very smart woman after all.
"I know it is unfair of me to ask, but please, do try not to die, detective—your death would mean a great deal of sadness to all of us."
Instead of saying anything, I choose to walk forward towards the entrance in hopes of getting the controller.
Her words hurt a great deal to hear knowing what I know. And to think that if only one domino piece was taken out of the stupid line-up of events, this could have been avoided.
Not that it matters anymore.
The clash of muscles—of bones and fists—grows more and more quiet, not signaling the end of the fight but instead a reminder of the time I have left.
Each step forward is a stumble; keeping balance is almost impossible, and even if my body starts imploring for me to stop, I don't, pushing on just a little bit more. The path becomes twisted and wrapped within itself as the last of my vision starts to give out.
I reach the door half-conscious, blood once more pouring from my nose and wounds, creating a trail that follows me to this point.
A good thing is that the controller is painted yellow because if not, I'm not sure I would be able to find it.
Grasping it, I bring it close to my face and, after a minute, find the right button to press. Timely, a voice reaches me, so loud and firm that even through the deafness taking over my ears, I'm able to hear.
"Detective, NOW!"
And with that, I press the button, using the rest of the fire that remains inside of me and feeling it slowly burn down to ashes.
The beast—who can't even be called a vampire anymore, transformed and warped into a whole different monster—fights with renewed vigor the trio of agents.
Yui's speed, Colette's training, and Dalia's support are all outmatched as the creature smartly uses its surroundings, both crates and shelves, to dance and create clever traps to seize any attempt to approach more than a few meters.
Crate after crate, it gains space and opportunity to attack, mostly throwing objects to create distractions, allowing it to hit and run again and again. In each attempt, Colette takes the front line and counters it, but not without sustaining considerable damage.
Little by little, unknowingly, the beast approaches the exact area the agents need it to be; that is the moment Colette breaks one of the crate's lids, grabs a sharp piece of wood, and launches the improvised weapon hard into the monster's neck, splattering dark, putrid blood on the floor.
As the target struggles to deal with the open wound, Yui moves out of view to follow Dalia's order.
Fast as lighting, the agent climbs expertly a set of pallet racks and quickly reaches the top, face to face with the crane's hook and the four rope wires attached to it. They then jump to it, grab one of the wires, and start to inspect it—keeping one foot on the hook.
In quick attempts, Yui punches and even tries to kick the thing down, with no success, giving them the conclusion that they can't, in no way, simply brute force it to break, but another idea comes to mind.
From below, Dalia, who has been keeping attention on both the fight and Yui, notices them raising a thumbs up before she screams an order to the detective in hopes she'll be able to hear in such a sad state.
Instantly, the hook starts to slowly descend while Yui climbs up the wire until reaching the very top; once there, they jump down, generating the maximum strength they can in the process.
The second their feet reach the hook, the wire that's being released slowly by a motor is forced to give, which causes the whole thing to break, bringing not only the hook down but the whole thing as well.
The beast reacts to the noise too late, as when he looks up, the metal hook hits his arm, ripping it clean off and smashing it down into a pulp of meat, creating a disgusting, gory sound, but that isn't the end. Metal beams, some of the ceiling, and shelves all fall, like dominoes atop him, some burring him as others impale his body into the ground.
Smoke rises from where the monster once was, and now, with a hole in the ceiling, moonlight fully reaches the warehouse's insides, bringing a wintry air that cleans the mix of rubble and concrete dust in the air.
As the air clears, the curtains are pulled to reveal the fate of the man, no more in the form of a beast—Doctor Verso. He stands almost crucified in metal as it crosses his legs, forcing him into kneeling, each beam deeply lodged into the cement floor. A deep wound revealing his ribs emphasizes the loss of his arm, and as he keeps his head hanging low, everyone can notice that, ultimately, he has passed out from the overwhelming pain.
Yui jumps from up high and lands between agents, who look at the scene in different batches of emotions as their own stand in a mix of seriousness and relief.
"Holy shit, we actually did it. Our first real successful mission in a long time; I don't even know how to react."
"I'm glad that the detective's plan worked out in the end, even if the collateral could have been avoided with a little more restraint." Dalia's eyes stay on the fallen target, searching for any sign of life from his unmoving body. "Colette, would you mind checking the target's state? We need to bring him alive to custody."
Not needing more than Dalia's order, the woman confidently approaches the man's body and grabs him firmly by the hair, forcing his head up into clear view. Her expression turns to disgust as she raises one hand and then slaps the man's face, watching as in seconds his body reacts to it, slowly starting the healing process.
"He'll live." She announces, shoving the target's face into the cement ground and leaving him there while her eyes wander around the shadows of the warehouse in search of something, or rather, someone. "Where's the human?"
"Yeah, where is the detective?" Yui asks, already grinning at the prospect of finally getting the answer if she'll stay with them or not. "We need to thank her for the plan, and, after she's all healed and better, we should celebrate together."
"Yui, I don't think she will..."
In a low tone, knowing what fate awaits the detective, Dalia thinks of telling them, but then, heavy, ungainly steps sound from the darkness behind them, stealing both her chance to say something and everyone's gazes.
A woman, a mere shadow of what Olivia Rivers, Havenport's detective, once was, stumbles aimlessly in the group's direction; from her laborious breathing and paleness, everyone present can tell she is mostly dead already.
Brown eyes like mud, dark and devoid of light, scan the path forward with difficulty, but somehow, recognition ends up shining through—the three agents' presence brings a small, weak smile to her lips.
Yui shields their nose from the alluring scent of blood, stepping back to make sure they don't lose control over their hunger. In their eyes a growing mix of pain and fear seeing the dire state of the detective.
"It is...over...huh?" Rather than looking at the agents, the woman looks at their general direction as they stand as mere distorted forms in her vision. "Finally...everyone will...be...safe..."
Gravity becomes a force more powerful than her own, and in its constant pull, it starts to bring her down to rest on the ground.
Everyone tries to react, to be fast enough to hold her, but that job is left to the fastest of them. Yui pushes over their vampiric instincts and moves like the wind in a blink, sliding on the ground and safely catching the woman before she's able to hit it.
Comparing both bodies, Yui is cold as a corpse most of the time, and at this moment, the woman in her arms rivals their temperature.
"Hey, HEY! Come on, detective, don't you dare sleep on me. Hold on; you're going to be okay. We'll get you to the agency, and they'll get you all fixed up." They hold one of the detective's hands and bring it to their face, cupping their cheek in her soft, cold palm, but the moment they let go, the woman's hand falls weakly back to her side. "How? How can you be so fragile, so delicate when...you looked so unbreakable that I forgot. Humans are so frail."
Fear starts to take over them as a panic attack starts to give hints of taking over; to stop it, they punch a hole in the floor and scream. "FUCK! Can you two please come here and help me out? There needs to be something we can do to save her. We need to."
Yui's scream serves as a wake-up call to both agents who stood watching the scene unveiling and now rush to their side.
Putting a hand on their shoulder, Dalia attempts to comfort the panicking agent. "Yui, I'm sorry; I don't imagine there is much we can do here. The detective made her choice, all to save us one last time. She would want us to—"
"NO! Don't you dare tell me she would want us to just watch her die helplessly, because that's bullshit, and you know it. After everything that happened, she wouldn't leave us behind like this."
"I understand that this isn't what you want, but—"
"I know what to do. Colie, you need to bite her—transform her; this way she can heal and be all better again. I would do it, but the process of becoming a vampire will just kill her already fading pulse."
"Okay, that's enough. I won't allow this to happen." Promptly, Dalia raises her hand and slaps some sense into their agent's head; despite her words, Dalia's true feelings start to show in the way her hand trembles. "Would you really be selfish enough to curse the detective just so you don't lose her?"
"..."
Silence is the only response Yui can manage, but that isn't the end of the discussion.
Colette, who's been quiet until this moment, staring at the soft face of the peaceful woman who looks as if she just went to sleep, sighs and squats down beside Yui.
"I'll do it." As the words leave the woman, Dalia prepares to object but is stopped before she can. "The order you gave was to keep her safe. If this is the only way, then so be it."
Even as Dalia tries to rationalize the situation, the many emotions involved in it make it hard to simply follow what she thinks is the right choice.
She questions if there even is such a thing as a right choice at this point, seeing everything that happened and all the pain an innocent one had to go through.
In the end, no one of the agents wishes to see the young woman have an end so sad and painful, even if it means cursing her with something they know will make her life more difficult.
Without ceremony, Colette takes the coat off the detective's body and slides her shirt just enough to expose the woman's shoulder. It clearly isn't easy for her, as she finds herself staring at the pale shoulder with a face that tells bad memories.
This feels wrong, both in the intimate sense and a more personal one, but that is all pushed back as she opens her mouth, exposes her sharp canines, and half transforms, trying her best to keep control over it.
Interestingly, her wolf doesn't attempt to get control; instead, it stands happy and excited about transforming this woman in specific, to mark her as one with itself. This, in any other moment, would make Colette stop and rethink the thing she's about to do, yet she doesn't.
In a quick motion, she lunges at the shoulder and bites it down, feeling the weak flesh give in to the sharp fangs as if submitting itself to her. Her tongue bathes in the few droplets it can squeeze out of the woman's, finding it strangely sweet and hunger-inducing.
Colette has to practically force herself to stop and back off, left to stare at the mark that represents much more than just transformation.
Minutes pass and nothing happens; the woman still lies dead in front of the agents, who at this point wait in silence for a miracle.
That's when the warehouse's door is kicked down and a group of people wearing white shirts and black vests floods into the place.
Right there, in the middle of them, Julia makes herself present and looks around, finding both the target defeated, drowned in rubble, and the trio of agents surrounding a familiar woman's body.
"Okay people, make yourselves useful and start getting that man out of there. I want him back and placed in a cell tonight." The woman's tone is strong and imponent, gathering the workers' attention and directing them. "The rest of you, bring the ambulance here; we have a wounded person."
Every worker nods and directs themselves to a task as Julia approaches the agents with two men pushing a medical stretcher alongside her.
Even as she stops beside them, no one says a word, so instead of trying to pull them out of it, she gently pushes them away and opens space for the two men to put Olivia's body on the stretcher.
"I can see this is a delicate time, puppies, but I need you three to be strong and let us take care of her now." Adopting a softer tone, their handler pets each of their shoulders—the only thing she can do due to the running time. "I'll accompany her back to the agency to be sure everything's going to be fine."
"I want to go as well. I can't just stand around here and wait." Yui almost screams, and immediately Julia answers with a shake of her head.
"You can't, I'm sorry; I'll need you three to help the team here pull our target out of there and bring him back." While she speaks, the detective is loaded onto the stretcher and begins to be taken to the ambulance approaching the entrance; Julia looks apologetically at them and sighs. "I'll be waiting back in my office; do find me once you three are back."
Dalia, Yui, and Colette watch as the detective's figure disappears in the sea of agency personnel, her fate unknown to them, leaving only space to hope that something can be done. Even if, at this point, everything says that she is already dead.
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