The Derelict Sector smelled of rust, rot, and the coppery tang of old blood. Abandoned manufacturing plants spewed chemical vapors that hung in the air, staining the perpetual twilight a sickly green. Rostova moved with a predator's grace, her pistol drawn, its energy coil emitting a faint, high-pitched whine that set Kaelen's teeth on edge.
"Here," she said, stopping before a gutted transit arch. Police drones hovered at the perimeter, their red scanning lights painting the rubble. "The body was found inside. What's left of it."
Kaelen activated his internal audio suite, dialing down the ambient noise of dripping water and distant sirens. He pushed past the quarantine tape, his boots crunching on broken glass. The air was thick, heavy. He closed his eyes and listened.
At first, there was nothing but the expected decay. Then, he found it. A faint, shimmering echo, clinging to the twisted metal like psychic residue. It was the same resonant frequency from the recording, but here it was wild, uncontrolled. It sang a song of rage and raw hunger.
"It's still here," he whispered into his comms. "The resonance. Faint, but... potent. It's not just a signature, Anya. It's an emotion. A memory of the hunt."
He opened his eyes and saw Rostova watching him, her expression unreadable. "Can you get a direction? A trail?"
Kaelen nodded, moving deeper into the arch. The resonance grew stronger, leading him to a spray of dried blood on a concrete wall. But there was something else. A second frequency, intertwined with the first. Softer, more melancholic. A lament.
"There were two of them," he said, his voice tight. "The attacker... and another. This one was... different. Afraid, maybe. Or in pain."
He followed the dual trails to a dark corner, where a shredded piece of fabric was caught on a sharp edge. It wasn't from a victim's clothing. It was a thick, grey polymer, like a high-tech bandage. He picked it up carefully.
As his fingers made contact, a jolt of static electricity shot up his arm. A burst of raw, unfiltered audio flooded his mind—a guttural snarl, the screech of tearing metal, and a single, clear word, spoken in a voice that was both human and beast: "Run."
Kaelen gasped, stumbling back and dropping the fabric. His head throbbed.
"What is it?" Rostova was at his side in an instant.
"It's a data-storage polymer," he panted, his heart racing. "It recorded the event. Bio-acoustically." He looked at her, his face pale. "It's not an animal, Anya. It's a person. A transformed person. And one of them is still trying to hold on to their humanity."
The revelation hung in the toxic air. They weren't hunting a monster. They were hunting a victim. And from the sheer power of the resonance he'd felt, Kaelen knew with chilling certainty that the transformation was a fate worse than death.