Run: 2026-05-27-01KSMEPKCMEQZJDSF4MKV7XTPT

Detective Harlow Quinn stepped out of her unmarked car and surveyed the decrepit entrance to the abandoned Camden Tube station. A crime scene. That could mean nothing at all. Quinn had run into all sorts of weird cases since her wife died. Dead magical girls, reversed time frames, resurrected mummies, and fights with giant shapeshifting hounds. But this? This one could be life threatening for someone with her 'ιλοango delight. The rising sun had begun to peek out over the horizon, casting elongated shadows across the gravel lot. A crescent moon still hung in the sky, visible to her in the gloom. Harlow stuck a toothpick in a tooth. Quinn is here to do a job. And damn it, she'd do it right. "I told you it was a bad idea to come here without a proper Warren group. Can't monkeys you without body guards." Detective Quinn sighed with tired foreboding, and looked over to the sound of her colleague's voice. It was her partner, Detective Vikram Singh. In more ways than one. "You think I'm grating, you sure know how to hit that nerve." "Do I need to remind you of what happened to your last partner? Surely you've not forgotten." Singh was right, she had no clue about what had happened to Detective Morris, but she had proceeded with caution since receiving the tip about unusual activity here. Someone had the audacity to kill an entire family in an abandoned subway station. It's not the sort of thing to be brushed off. Fear, that's what she felt. Fear, guilt for wanting this life under conditions that were dangerous. and Fearsome. "I told you I'm leaving the magical stuff to you. But no, here I am." Said Singh, with disgust in his tone. Quinn huffed, adjusting her fedora as they approached the gate. "Well excuse me for giving a shit about missing people. And yet you're here with me and catching criminals and thinking your suffering is unique when your my colleague too." Singh suppressed a wry chuckle. "Why did you join?" They both knew, but they needed a voice reminder. Singh cracked a smile. "To make the world a safer place for your comrades. The Plexus, the Warren. Me." Singh answered for her. Singh lowered his voice and spoke to Harlow "Something's not right here. I can feel it. C'mon, let's go check it out." Quinn lifted her foot and tapped the dispatcher Saturday's walkie talkie. "Send the cavalry behind Gary's. We're going in." Quinn pushed through the twisted iron gate with ease, flashing her badge to the uniformed officer standing guard. Singh was close on her heels as they made their way down the steep curved steps, their footsteps echoing in the dimly lit station. The air grew colder and damper the deeper they went. Quinn's skin crawled with a sense of unease. Something was off, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Up ahead, the station narrowed into a corridor with a single wooden door at the end. It moaned like a baby crying on wet hinges. The TOD squad was hunched over a body to the left, taking samples. Separation anxiety swirled in her head. She gagged on dank esophagus. She beat it down. Quinn entered the room first, her keen eyes scanning the scene. The walls were covered with strange symbols and sigils scribbled in what looked like blood. A pentagram was drawn on the floor, and in the center of it lay a body, hands splayed outward, a dagger embedded in the corpse's forehead. "Unusual," Quinn breathed. "Let's get in there and see what we're dealing with. Come on in, Vik." "Careful now, Harlow," Singh said warily. "We don't want to compromise the scene." Quinn nodded, angling her hat as she approached the body. "This doesn't look like any ritual I've ever seen before. What do you make of it, Vik?" Singh dubbed his brow with a handkerchief as he knelt down, squinting at the symbols. "I'm not sure. Some kind of dark magic, but I can't place it exactly. We're going to need to call in an expert on this one. Lovecraftian mumbo jumbo like this could get awful nasty awful quickly." Quinn bit the inside of her cheeks, picturing a life away from this. It wouldn't be so easy. She waved to Saturday to join them "Hey Satur, what's the deal with this one? UK cars don't even have driver or passenger side, but they strapped in together." The uniformed officer shook his head, grimacing. "I don't know, Miss. I was just told to secure the scene until you got here. But... miss, I think there's more to this than a simple case of ritualistic killing. There's something... else going on here. Something I can't quite explain, or even see. But I can feel it, in my bones. And it don't feel good." He punctuated his words with particular emphasis, his voice both appalled and awed. Goosebumps erupted on Quinn's arms and legs. A twitch turned her head towards the corridor, but it was empty as far as she could see. "Well, Detective Quinn. Looks like we've got a real mystery on our hands now, don't we?" Singh commented dryly. "Story of my life," Quinn muttered, running a hand over her tired eyes. This was going to be a long, frustrating investigation, she could already tell. But she would see it through, damn it. She had to. For her own piece of mind, maybe she could breathe again. Singleton raised himself upright and dusted off his trousers, picking his teeth with a toothpick. "Come on, then. Let's go see if the boss has any bright ideas. If not, we'll be pouring over crime scene photos and cross referencing witness statements until we puke." Quinn sighed heavily and followed him out, her boots heavy on the concrete. New leads found. Lines of inquiry. An illuminati perversion reality show. This case could teach her. Good or bad.