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"This better not be another prank call," grumbled Officer Daniels, rubbing his eyes. "Middle of the night, seriously…" He yawned, the exhaustion evident in his voice.

Next to him, Officer Hayes gave a small laugh. "You want it to be real? You’re getting excited about this?"

Daniels rolled his eyes. "No, of course not. But you get what I’m saying. Waking us up at this hour for nothing is just—"

Before he could finish, Staff Sergeant Rachel Miller shot them both a sharp look. "Enough chit-chatting," she snapped. "Where’s the ambulance? They were supposed to be here by now."

"They said they should be here soon," Daniels muttered, still a little groggy from being woken up, his tone half-apologetic.

Rachel nodded curtly and turned her attention to the intercom beside the building’s entrance.

She pressed the button for Apartment 17, the place from which the call had originated. There was a pause, and then a shaky, trembling voice answered.

"Hello?"

Rachel’s tone softened slightly. "Hi, this is the police. You called us earlier?"

There was a sigh of relief on the other end. "Ah, finally… you’re here. Please, come in." There was a soft click as the automatic door buzzed open, granting them entry.

The officers quickly entered the building, stepping into the dimly lit hallway. Their footsteps echoed faintly as they made their way up to the floor where the woman who had called lived, Apartment 17, just across from Apartment 15—where they assumed the incident had taken place.

Rachel took the lead, her senses on high alert. As they reached the top floor, she immediately noticed that the door to Apartment 15 was slightly ajar.

Her instincts kicked in, and she held up a hand, signalling the officers behind her to be prepared.

"This is real," she muttered under her breath, her stomach twisting slightly.

She’d been in the force long enough to know that when things were quiet like this, it usually meant trouble.

With a calm motion, Rachel unholstered her sidearm, holding it close to her chest.

She moved forward cautiously, using the technique—piecing the cake, they called it—slicing the room in segments.

As she slowly advanced through the door. Her breathing was steady, her eyes scanning every corner.

A strange odour hit her as soon as she stepped inside—an odd mix of sweat, blood, and something else she couldn’t quite place.

It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was enough to make her nose twitch. Still, Rachel was used to bad smells in this line of work, so she pushed the discomfort aside and kept moving.

What she saw next, however, made her stomach turn in a way she hadn’t expected.

A man—fat, dishevelled, and utterly broken—lay sprawled on the floor in the middle of the room.

His body was a wreck, his legs bent at sickening angles, one hand twisted unnaturally. Blood had pooled around him, staining the floor beneath him with its dark red colour.

His face was pale, sweat clinging to his skin, and his eyes were closed—whether unconscious or dead, she couldn’t tell.

Rachel’s breath caught in her throat, and for a brief moment, she stood frozen, staring at the horrifying scene in front of her. "What kind of monster could do this?" she wondered, feeling a faint wave of nausea rise in her stomach.

She shook it off and quickly signalled to the others to search the apartment, just in case someone was still there, lurking in the shadows.

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The officers fanned out, moving swiftly through the rooms, checking every closet, every corner. Within moments, they reported back—there was no one else.

"It’s clear," one of them said.

Rachel holstered her weapon and immediately knelt beside the man’s body, her hand moving to his neck, searching for a pulse.

The silence in the room was suffocating as she pressed her fingers against the thick flesh, waiting, hoping.

Seconds passed. Her heart raced.

Finally, she felt it—a faint, but steady pulse.

"He’s still alive!" Rachel shouted her voice tight with urgency. She looked over her shoulder. "Where’s the ambulance?"

"They’re downstairs," one of the officers replied, his voice tinged with frustration. "They’re coming up now."

Rachel let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She looked down at the man, Horace, his broken body barely holding onto life.

She couldn’t imagine the level of pain he must be in—the kind of torture someone would have to inflict to leave him in such a state.

The officer nearest to her, Officer Daniels, stared at the twisted figure on the floor, his face pale. "Who did this?" he muttered under his breath, clearly shaken by the brutality of what he was seeing.

Hayes, standing beside him, looked just as disturbed. "This guy looks like he got hit by a freight train," he whispered.

"What kind of sicko does this to someone?"

Daniels shook his head, still trying to process the scene in front of him. "I don’t know, man, but this… this is straight out of a horror movie."

The tension in the room was thick, the officers shifting uncomfortably as they took in the sight of Horace’s mangled limbs.

One of them broke the silence, trying to lighten the mood with dark humour.

"Joker. It’s gotta be the Joker," one of the officers muttered under his breath, half-joking, half-serious. "Who else messes someone up this bad?"

Rachel gave him a sharp look, but another officer chimed in, shaking his head.

"Nah, man. First, we’ve got some guy running around playing Batman. Now we’ve got someone playing the Joker? What the hell is going on in this city?"

Daniels, his nerves on edge, let out a shaky laugh. "Did I get transmigrated into the DC Universe? What’s next, a guy in a cape swooping in to fight crime?"

Rachel ignored the banter, her focus solely on the man in front of her. "Enough," she said, her voice cold.

"This isn’t a game. Whoever did this is dangerous, and they’re still out there."

The sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway as the paramedics finally arrived, rushing into the apartment with their equipment in hand.

Rachel stood up, making way for them to work. She watched as they quickly assessed Horace’s injuries, their faces grim as they realized the extent of the damage.

"This guy’s lucky to be alive," one of the paramedics muttered under his breath as he prepped Horace for transport.

"Broken legs, shattered hand, internal injuries… if whoever did this had gone any further, he’d be dead. He left him just on the brink of death... Whoever did this knew exactly what he was doing"

Rachel nodded, her mind still racing. Whoever had done this had been deliberate. Precise. They had left Horace alive—but only just. It was a message. A warning.

As the paramedics worked, Rachel stepped back, her eyes narrowing in thought. Someone had done this with purpose. Someone who had the skill and the intent to inflict this kind of suffering.

And that meant this wasn’t over.

As the paramedics wheeled Horace out of the apartment, Rachel turned to the officers. "We need to canvas the area," she said firmly. "Check for any cameras, talk to the neighbours. Someone had to have seen something. Whoever did this isn’t going to stop here."

The officers nodded, their earlier jokes and banter gone, replaced with the grim understanding that they were dealing with something far darker than they’d anticipated.

As Rachel stepped out into the night, she looked up at the sky, her mind already focused on tracking down the person responsible for the brutal scene she had just witnessed.

"This city’s changing," she thought. "There is a monster among us..."