Run: 2026-05-27-01KSMFA02EW8DAM3R6PKD6PHWA

The marble floor was slick with blood, a gruesome crimson stain that stretched out in a wide, irregular starburst from the body's prone form. Detective Harlow Quinn stood over the corpse, eyeing it with detached clinical detachment, the weight of eighteen years of experience settling around her shoulders like it was an over-large coat. The culprit was far too aggressive for this to be a simple mugging gone wrong. Professional detachment, combined with three cups of coffee, had fortified Quinn, but even the caffeine couldn't suppress the acidic tang of unease pooling under her tongue. Quinn swung around on her heel, arms akimbo, eyes scanning the severed earth. It smelled of brine and ozone, a centering scent of damp odor. Three.Full.Moons and they think a crime has gone away force?" Nothing about this scene felt kosher. She bent forward and caught movement. Quinn started. The body twitched, muscles releasing fluid, eyes half closed in anemic slits. It couldn't be. Dead men didn't walk. "Woah. You see that?" Queried Constable McGregor from behind her. Small whorls of his breath mizzled in the dusky underground air. Quinn crossed the distance in three steps, knee pits, and crouched. She raised an eyebrow. If this corpse really was moving, they needed to run. Soon. Fast. The head elongated, skull slick and welling with blood, inhuman eyes turning to stare at them, two dusty orbs glazed with cataracts, but weirdly aware. "Hello, detectives," rasped the mouth. It grinned a smile full of teeth, all sharp points like rusted nails. "Are you here to bargain?" Then the corpse heaved to its feet, its momentum knocking Quinn back. Quinn stumbled, her heel slamming into a loose cobblestone, and she pitched forward over the corpse, its claws ripping though her leather jacket. Disoriented, she felt a paralyzing stabbing pain in her left arm, saw the bloody weave of her coat and noticed the skin deform in the space between her bicep and forearm. Belatedly, McGregor began shouting, his voice distant, his gun aimed at the corpse. It screamed, a torturous noise that seared her ears and shook the crumbling walls. Then the corpse lunged, its claws an inch away from Quinn's throat, eyes fixed on her, demanding. "Compas," it hissed, the word succinct. "Need Compass. Bring Compass or metro bite down." A final hiss escaped its toothless mouth and then the corpuscollapsed backwards, its body deflating. Heeled boots and leather tiles marred with blood, the corpse lay bloated and silent, skull agog staring up at them. Quinn staggered, her face ashen, the corporal biting pain between her biceps swarming. The swine of McGregor had dropped his weapon. She could hear him yak loudly on the radio, shoving his face on the scene. McGregor, a dog-faced weasel of a man, always egged down on call, but right now he was clueless. Yapping nonsense. Order, McGregor, Quinn seemed to remember. Do as you're told. Not me, Yorker. The images played through her mind, bloody cut marks, curious poaching, flickering glamour from a lost century and a half. A dozen unending miles, yet still the same. A ritual gone terrible. Things prowled here where they shouldn't be. This couldn't be safe. Couldn't be sane. Ground zero, the Veil Market. McGregor was still talking, his voice sounding like it was traveling through cotton. "The woman's raving, sir. Claims there's an underground market. It's delusional. Hallucinating..." You don't know the half of it. Quinn thought bitterly. The movement of the corpse had been strange. She felt eyes watching, mutely, in the darkness, tracking her. Even now the physical pain was receding, the strangest tingling replacing it in its place. She heard the sound of McGregor shuffling closer as she tried to stand. "Ms. Quinn?" he asked. "I think we need to get you medical attention. You've lost a lot of blood and you're still in shock. The paramedics are on their way." Quinn shook her head. "You don't understand, McGregor. This is bigger than either of us. Whatever was in that corpse, it was after something. And I think I know what it was." She held up the Veil Compass, the needle flickering and spinning wildly. "This thing has been leading us here all along. And now, I think we've finally found it. The Veil Market. And I think I know where we need to go next." McGregor stared at her, mouth agape. "You can't be serious. This is ridiculous. There's no such thing as a supernatural underground market. You're fuckin' delirious, woman." "Watch your mouth, Constable," Quinn snapped. "And I'm not delirious. I know what I saw. And whatever it was, it wasn't natural. We need to find this market and we need to do it now, before whatever was in that corpse finds us first." McGregor stared at her, looking unsure and scared now . His hands trembled. "You really think this is connected? To what happened, three years ago?" Quinn nodded. The weight of it settled on her shoulders. "I do. And I think it might be the key to finding out what really happened to Morris." She stood up, her hand moving to her sidearm. "So what do you say, Constable? Ready to catch your first supernatural serial killer?" McGregor swallowed, nodded once. Then he shrugged, a haunted smile crossing his face. "Lead the way, boss. I'm right behind you."