Arya took a deep breath—then kicked the warehouse door open with a deafening crash. The metal groaned on its rusty hinges, half-shattered but still clinging to the frame.
Darkness swallowed him, pierced only by lightning flashes slashing through the cracked, high ceiling. The air reeked of rust, old oil, and something worse—sharp, metallic, and sickening. It clung to his throat like invisible claws.
"Bayu!" he called, voice low but urgent.
He raised his pistol. The tactical light under the barrel flicked on with a soft click, casting a white cone that swept across piles of forgotten junk.
No answer. Only the drip of water through holes in the roof, and the quick scurry of rats between broken crates.
Arya moved deeper, boots crunching glass and debris. The beam swept left and right—shadows, boxes, old scaffolding—and then… blood. Dark drops smeared across the dusty floor, leading toward the far corner like breadcrumbs in a nightmare.
His heart thundered. Dread coiled in his gut like a living thing.
"Bayu…?" he whispered now, every step tighter, slower.
The light caught something.
A figure.
Tied to a rickety chair, slumped forward—barely breathing.
Arya froze. It was Bayu.
Or… it used to be.
His face was a swollen, bloodied ruin. Bruises and open cuts marred his skin. Torn clothes stuck to dried blood. But what chilled Arya most were the things moving beneath Bayu's skin—bulges, pulses, like something crawling inside him.
Unnatural twitches rippled across his limbs.
"Arya…" Bayu's voice rasped, dry as ash.
A cough followed—wet and ugly—spraying blood down his chest.
"You… shouldn't have come…"
His head hung low, but even in the shadows Arya saw it—something was wrong with his eyes. Too red. Too glassy. And the veins along his neck were black.
Arya stepped closer, pistol shaking slightly.
"What did they do to you…?" he breathed.
Bayu didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Because the air shifted—suddenly colder, heavier. A low rumble echoed through the walls, like something huge moving beneath the warehouse floor.
Arya tightened his grip on the gun.
He wasn't alone.
Not anymore.