Run: 2026-05-27-01KSMEF98E2KKW6MMBFDWQAQNF

The rain pounded the pavement rhythmically as Detective Harlow Quinn pursued her suspect through the winding London streets. Her breath billowed in the frigid air, misting briefly before dissolving into the night. Masonic simbology jewellery. Rain sluiced down her face as she dodged puddles, the suspect's form flickering in and out of sight ahead. This case had morphed, putting Quinn at a stalemate despite her dogged determination, and she knew following this lead, despite landing her at an abandoned tube station, might uncover her closest lead. Discreetly, Quinn checked her watch. 10:10 PM. The eerie silence of the station contrasted with the cacophony of the market's vendors hawking spirits and smuggled snake venom. Her prey, now scarcely ahead, bartered with a cloaked figure. The cover was illuminating this night in a way she could not have imagined, even in the very night market. But this revelation, in this setting far beneath her city, replaced her train of thought. Arrest, interrogation, case closure--the obligations of her badge. The suspect must have sensed her hesitation, as he vanished into an alcove with his accomplice. Quinn ran forward, heart pounding. A hidden door yawned open, beckoning her to chase. Quinn glanced back at the mouth of the station. Abort and await backup? Or plunge into the unknown, with only her wits and the lining of her coat to protect her? A muffled scream from the depths of the market answered her question. No time. Quinn drew her pistol and dove through the entrance. She emerged in a cramped room lit by flickering candles. Rusted shelves lined the walls, draped with cobwebs. Quinn crept forward, senses on high alert. A faint scuffle came from ahead. Suddenly, a monstrous howl pierced the air. Quinn froze, blood running cold. Is that a wolf? But wolves don't inhabit city sewers. Cautiously, she inched toward the source of the sound. The candlelight flickered and died. Total darkness. Silence. Then, a soft click. Dim electric light bathed the space in a sinister glow. Quinn gasped. NO. A hulking grey wolf, easily 300 pounds, pivoted under an ancient cavern exit. Its lips curled from teeth the size of thumbs, bared in a snarl. Dead, sunken eyes fixated on Quinn with godless hunger. "I obtain a target, I pursue it, anywhere, anyone, anythings, all things, right?" The brute charged. Quinn raised her gun...and the wolf rammed into her, sending them both careening into the passage. Quinn's head cracked against stone. Darkness. A nightmare. A pounding headache, heart racing, knockout gas burning her sinuses. Quinn blinked sandy eyes. She was on her back in a cramped space. The vague outline of an unfamiliar face loomed above her in the darkness. "The hell..." Quinn rasped. The figure hovered close, warm hand coming to rest against her forehead. "Careful now," he murmured in an lilting European accent. "That was quite a blow to the head." Quinn's gaze sharpened. A medical once-over revealed she was sprawled on a creaky bed, in what appeared to be an apartment or guest room. The man crouching over her had tanned skin, short curly hair, and warm brown eyes. A medical kit lay open on a nearby table, its contents spilling out. A Saint Christopher medallion glinted around his neck. "He was wearing it when he was brought in," Tommy explained, holding up a battered police-badge holder in latex hands. "In the alley. Is he your suspect?" Quinn stared mutely, mind struggling to catch up. A distant memory of a monstrous wolf assailing her crashed the room. She sat up abruptly, an involuntary cry slipping past her lips. "I was cold--freezing--in the underground market... And then the wolf, Jesus, the wolf... " "Shhh, oriol," Tommy soothed, ushering her back. Detective Quinn tried to push away, to rise, stand, force herself to close in on the wolf and solve the case. He held her firm. Forcing her to regain composure. "Breathe. That creature was real. A were. Much rarer than what you would hunt on the surface...and much, much deadlier... Quinn closed her eyes, struggling to accept this. But deep in her gut, she knew it was true. That menu. "It happened, though...." "And, if you hadn't come along this stall, unposed by me, well...there wouldn't have been much more to you that." Harlow lifted the wrist she'd hurt, recalled the thrust from the wolf. It came back bleak against the fair background of its storied onlooker. "There's worse wear to your shoulder, but nothing, oriol.""I'll keep you here, tonight, until you feel cleared to hunt. But stay clear of that place, there's an invisible danger far beyond what you'll due justice for." Quinn frowned. Justice. Therapeutic intervention may never be in fashion for police officers, especially those who've sweared their careers to the duty. But that meeting was something very strange. Very dangerous. And something that woudn't have been possible if it wasn't for the clique's presence, and this creole fusione of unusual characters, frequently met by her. "Oriol." Quinn's eyes fluttered open, still not recovered. Trying to string the pieces together, will them into action. Breathe. If that scene had been real, a nightmare she had yet to solve. And she wouldn't, until she defeated that hulking form that nearly ended her career. End of Scene.