The first thing Sarah noticed was the cold. It seeped through her clothes and bit at her skin, where she lay against what felt like concrete. Her wrists ached, bound tight behind her back with something rough that cut into her skin when she tried to move. Yet her cuffs didn't bug an inch. The taste of copper filled her mouth—blood from where she'd bitten her tongue. The taste of chemicals still hang from her lips. The last thing she remembered was unlocking her front door, stepping into her apartment, and then… nothing.
A distant rumble shook the ground beneath her, followed by the screech of metal on metal. Train wheels. She was somewhere near the railroad tracks. The warehouse around her was mostly dark, lit only by slivers of dying sunlight that leaked through grimy windows high above. Dust motes danced in the amber beams, and the air smelled of rust and something else—something sharp and chemical that made her nose burn.
"Hello?" Her voice came out as barely a whisper, cracked and dry. The sound seemed to disappear into the vast space around her. Sarah's heart hammered against her ribs as the reality of her situation crashed over her in waves.
"What's going on what's going on" she thought in her head
This wasn't some mistake. Hell a mistake like this couldn't just happen. Someone had taken her. Someone had been watching her, following her, just like she'd feared. Her weeks of being scared was real. But why? She was nobody special—just an office worker who went home to her cat and leftover takeout most nights. What could anyone possibly want with her?
Heavy footsteps echoed through the warehouse, deliberate and measured. Sarah's breath caught in her throat as a figure emerged from the shadows. The person was tall, broad-shouldered, and completely encased in what looked like tactical armor—black plates that seemed to absorb the dim light around them. A helmet covered their entire head, the face hidden behind a dark visor that reflected nothing. Not even their voice would give away who they were.
Without a word, the armored figure dragged a metal folding table across the concrete floor, the legs scraping and screeching until it sat directly in front of Sarah. They placed a large black suitcase on the table's surface with careful precision, as if it contained something precious. Or dangerous.
The latches opened with sharp metallic clicks that made Sarah flinch. When the lid lifted, she could see an array of gleaming metal objects nestled in foam compartments—tools, instruments, things with edges and points that caught what little light filtered through the warehouse windows. Each piece was arranged with surgical precision, organized by size and purpose. The killer's gloved hands hovered over the contents like a surgeon selecting the right scalpel.
Sweat beaded on Sarah's forehead despite the cold, rolling down her temples in tiny rivulets. Her eyes stung from her sweat, her heart hammered so hard she was sure it would burst from her chest. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as the full horror of her situation crashed over her. This was it. This was how she was going to die. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as she tried to form words, to plead, to reason with this monster.
"Please, I—"
"Don't worry," the killer interrupted, their voice distorted and hollow through the helmet's speaker. "I'm not here to hurt you. Not unless he comes."
Miles away the world blurred past Dante in streaks of color as he pushed his speed to the limit. Buildings, streetlights, and parked cars became nothing more than painted smears in his peripheral vision. The only sounds were the rhythmic pounding of his feet against asphalt and Jade's calm voice crackling through the comm device in his ear.
"Two blocks out," Jade reported. "GPS show you're almost on top of the location. Slow it down before you overshoot."
Dante gradually decelerated, the world snapping back into focus as he came to a stop behind a cluster of abandoned shipping containers. His chest rose and fell rapidly, not from exertion but from adrenaline. The warehouse loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the evening sky. Train tracks ran parallel to the building, and he could smell the lingering scent of diesel fuel and metal in the air.
"Remember recon," said Jade
"Yeah I know," he whispered, pressing a finger to his earpiece. "Going in quiet."
Dante moved like a shadow, using his enhanced reflexes to slip between patches of darkness. He found a side entrance with a broken lock and eased the door open just enough to squeeze through. Inside, the warehouse was eerily silent. Too silent. His enhanced senses picked up the faint sound of breathing from somewhere deeper in the building, but something felt wrong.
He spotted it immediately—a single phone lying on a wooden crate near the entrance, its screen glowing in the dim light. The Alive180 app was open, showing a blinking red dot at this exact location.
"Jade," he breathed into his comm. "We've got a problem."
Kennetos gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone white. The speedometer needle hovered dangerously close to eighty as he weaved through traffic, his mind racing faster than his car. Sarah was in trouble because of him—because of whatever this paradox world had dragged him into. He should have answered her calls. He should have been there.
His phone buzzed against the dashboard where he'd mounted it for GPS directions. A text message from an unknown number made his blood run cold:
Change of plans. 1247 Industrial Drive. Come alone or Sarah gets it. No friends, no backup, no heroes. Just you.
Kennetos slammed on the brakes, tires screeching as he pulled over to the shoulder. His hands shook as he stared at the message. Industrial Drive was on the opposite side of the city from the warehouse. Whoever had Sarah was moving her around, staying one step ahead. They knew about Monty. They knew about the others coming to help.
He quickly typed back: How do I know she's still alive?
The response came immediately—a photo that made his stomach lurch. Sarah, tied to a chair, tears streaming down her face, with those horrible metal tools visible in the background. But she was breathing. She was alive.
Kennetos deleted the warehouse address from his GPS and entered the new location. His phone showed a ten-minute drive. Twenty minutes of not knowing if this was another trap, another misdirection. Twenty minutes of Sarah being alone with a killer.