Run: 2026-02-19-01KHSZ0RY1J9171JRBBPVP79KN

Detective Harlow Quinn stepped into the abandoned Tube station, the air thick with the smell of damp concrete and something earthy and foul. An eerie silence engulfed her, broken only by the echo of her boot heels on the platform. The unlit fluorescent bulbs cast long shadows, adding to the claustrophobic atmosphere. She approached the crime scene, a makeshift barrier of police tape cordoning off the area. The body lay sprawled on the ground, a pool of blood soaking into the old tracks. 'This one's a doozy, isn't it?' DS Elliot Foster, a portly man with a ruddy complexion, stood over the body. His round face glistened with sweat, his jowls wobbling as he spoke. 'The vic's been ripped to shreds.' Quinn's sharp eyes darted around, taking in every detail. The torn clothes, the savage wounds, the markings on the ground. Something was not right. She knelt by the corpse, her military precision apparent in the slow, deliberate movement. 'Looks like an animal attack, doesn't it? Maybe a pack of wild dogs.' Foster continued, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. 'But no animals down here, not with that smell.' He waved his hand, indicating the strange odour permeating the station. Quinn's brown eyes narrowed. The pattern of wounds was irregular, almost... intentional. But why? She turned over the victim's hand, revealing clean, neatly trimmed nails. No defensive wounds. The victim hadn't fought back. 'The ME will know more, but I'm thinking we got us a sacrifice, Detective.' Foster's voice boomed, his bulk casting an imposing shadow. 'You know, with all them freak shows and weirdos in Camden, probably some sick cult business.' Quinn's gaze fell on the victim's face. A young woman, her features frozen in a mask of terror. Brown curls matted with blood and grime framed her pale face. But it wasn't fear in her eyes, Quinn noted; it was something else. Resignation, perhaps. Or was it acceptance? 'Hey, you see this?' Foster called out, directing his maglite at the far wall. 'Looks like them freaks were summoning something. Weird, eh?' Quinn rose, her eyes scanning the wall. Ritualistic symbols were painted in what looked like blood. 'Could just be a distraction, DS Foster. Throw us off the scent.' She moved closer to the wall, scrutinising the intricate design. Someone had put effort into this. The symbols were unlike anything she'd seen, even in her work with the Occult Crimes Unit. 'What're the uniforms saying?' 'Not much, boss. A bunch of youngsters came down for a rave and found the body. They're shaken up, giving conflicting statements. The kids are getting rounded up, and the doc's on their way to pronounce.' Foster snorted. 'Can you believe it? Rave in a stinking hole like this. Kids these days.' 'I want to talk to this lot once they've calmed down.' Quinn took out her worn leather notebook, jotting down observations. 'And get forensics down here, something doesn't sit right.' 'You don't think it's as simple as I said, do ya? Some nutcase cultists?' Foster leaned in, his breath rank with tobacco. Quinn tilted her head, eyes scanning the platform. The kids' footprints were everywhere, and some had trampled over the ritual markings. 'Too many variables. This location, the markings... It's a message. But for whom?' 'You getting all tinfoil hat on me, boss?' Foster chuckled. 'Or is that detective instincts?' Quinn ignored him, her attention fixed on the girl's belongings scattered nearby. A hair tie, a tube of lip balm, and a small brass compass. She picked up the compass, her thumb brushing over the verdigris casing. It was etched with strange protective sigils, the needle pointing to the north. North? Quinn turned in a circle, taking in her surroundings. 'Foster, where's north from here?' She spoke without taking her eyes off the compass. 'Should be that way.' Foster pointed, his finger aiming directly towards the platform's edge and the tunnel beyond. Quinn's heart quickened. The compass needle should spin aimlessly underground, but this one pointed with certainty. She took a step forward, then another, towards the mouth of the tunnel. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she neared the darkness, and the compass needle trembled. 'What you playing at, Detective?' Foster's voice echoed behind her. 'The compass, it...' Quinn's words were cut off by a loud, piercing scream from the tunnel. The sound ricocheted off the concrete walls, a primal terror that rooted them to the spot. 'That didn't sound human, did it?' Foster's voice was barely a whisper. Quinn stood her ground, her hand reaching for her service weapon. She took a deep breath, the air heavy and oppressive. 'You go back topside. I'll check it out.' 'Like hell,' Foster growled. 'I ain't leaving you down—' 'DS Foster, that's an order! Keep the scene secure and wait for forensics. I'll meet you up top.' Quinn didn't wait for a reply, striding into the tunnel, her boot steps echoing. As she ventured deeper into the Tube's bowels, the air grew colder, and the sound of dripping water amplified. Her hand tightened on her gun, fingers sweat-slick on the handle. The dim beam of her torch danced over crumbling walls, revealing the Tube's abandonment. Graffitied walls and litter gave way to ancient brickwork, the further she went. The scream echoed again, closer this time, a ragged, desperate sound. Her footfalls slowed, each step measured, wary. The tunnel opened into a larger chamber, her torch beam revealing a scene straight from a nightmare. Figures, human-like in shape but twisted and distorted, gathered in a circle. Their bodies contorted, limbs bending in ways that defied anatomy. At their centre, a dark, gaping portal pulsed with malevolent energy. And from it, a creature, unlike anything Quinn had encountered, emerged. It hovered, suspended, its many eyes glinting in the darkness. Quinn's hand froze mid-draw, her mouth dry. This was the source of the stench, the reason why the compass needle spun. One of the figures turned, its face a grotesque mask. A sound emanated from its mouth, not quite laughter but a terrible parody of it. She was discovered. The other figures joined in, their horrid cacophony echoing, filling the chamber. Quinn's finger twitched on the trigger as she raised her pistol, ready to fire.