I follow him, my feet moving quickly but cautiously, the weight of the bulletproof vest pressing down on me, making every breath feel a little more labored. I can feel the cold against my face, my fingers numb from the chill. I glance up at him every few seconds, checking that I’m still where I should be; behind him.
We reach the motel quickly, and I can already feel the decay settling into my lungs. The place is dead, just like everything else around us. The exterior, if you can even call it that, is peeling, crumbling, falling apart at the seams. The paint has long since flaked away, revealing the rotting wood beneath, and the windows are shattered, jagged glass pieces hanging like broken teeth in a corpse’s mouth.
Dominik doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t waste time taking in the horror of it. He just steps up to the door, pushing it open with ease, and then he’s inside. The smell hits me first; the thick, sour stench of mildew, decay, and something metallic, like blood that’s been left to dry. The air inside is stagnant, heavy with years of neglect. The walls are stained, the floor cracked and dirty, like no one has stepped foot in here in ages. Broken furniture lies scattered like forgotten relics, chairs tipped over, the remains of a once functional room now nothing more than a monument to abandonment.
I can’t help but shiver. Every step we take seems to echo in the silence, the sound of our shoes on the cracked linoleum the only thing that breaks the thick stillness. I can feel the weight of the place, its history pressing down on me like the air itself is trying to smother me. This place has seen things. Bad things. I can feel it.
Dominik moves methodically through the rooms, checking each one, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow. Hishand never strays far from his weapon, his stance always tense, ready for whatever might come. I follow behind him, staying close, keeping my eyes on him as we move. My breath feels too loud in the silence, but I don’t dare speak. There’s a tension in the air, like the very walls are holding their breath, waiting for something.
I don’t know how long we move through the dark, empty halls, each room just as dilapidated and forgotten as the last. The silence is overwhelming, suffocating, like the place itself is trying to swallow us whole. Each creak of the floorboards beneath our feet feels like it could wake something up, stir something that’s been lying dormant for far too long.
Then I hear it.
A low grunt. A noise so faint, so subtle, that at first, I wonder if I imagined it. My heart stops in my chest. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. Dominik is still moving, but I can see the slight shift in his posture, the way his shoulders tighten as his senses lock onto the sound.
He’s heard it too.
Without a word, his hand lifts, fingers moving with practiced speed. He places his finger over his lips, a silent command that makes my heart pound even faster.Be quiet, his hands say.Stay still.
I don’t dare breathe. I don’t dare move.
We both know it; someone is here.
We inch forward. Every movement feels deliberate, calculated. We pass the office, the glass cracked, the door hanging loosely on its hinges, but we don’t stop. We don’t even glance inside. The faint smell of stale air and decay lingers, but it’s the tension in the air that chokes us more than the smell.
I keep my eyes on Dominik, the faint glint of the gun in his hand catching the low light. His every step is measured, his gaze never wavering from the dark corners of the building, scanning,waiting for something to jump out at us. The further we go, the colder it feels. Like the temperature drops with every step, a chill that settles in my bones and freezes the air in my lungs.
Then, we stop.
We’re standing before Room 7, the door hanging crookedly, the number barely visible, as if even the building itself is trying to forget what’s inside. My heart races, a pulse of adrenaline surging through me, and I glance at Dominik. He doesn’t look at me, but I can feel his eyes on me, a silent command in the air.
His hand moves, his finger pointing at the door and then back to me.Stay here.
I nod, and he’s gone in an instant, disappearing into the dark like a shadow.
The seconds drag on. Time stretches like it’s been distorted here, in this place where nothing feels real. I can hear my pulse thundering in my ears, every creak of the floor beneath my feet magnified in the stillness. My hands are shaking, my body tense, like it knows something is about to happen. I grip the knife at my side, my fingers cold, but it’s a false comfort. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what I can do.
Then, a noise, loud, violent, shatters the silence.
A crash. A grunt. The sound of bodies colliding.
I jerk forward, instinct pushing me to move, to rush in. But I hesitate. I can’t see what’s happening. I can’t hear clearly. All I know is that something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong.
A scream.
Dominik’s voice? No. A growl. A rasping, guttural sound, barely human.
I step forward, my feet moving on their own as the door creaks open just enough for me to see.
What I see makes my stomach turn.
Dominik is on the ground, blood dripping from his head, his eyes dazed, but there’s something else, something worse.Something wild.
A figure crouches over him, fists raised, beating him down with an animalistic rage. The man’s body is covered in dirt, blood, and madness. His eyes—black, void-like, feral—glare at Dominik as though he’s an enemy, something that must be destroyed. His movements are erratic, unhinged, brutal. He’s not thinking. He’s not seeing. He’s only reacting.
Aslanov.
I don’t recognize him, not like this. Not in this state. The man I once knew is gone, replaced by something terrifying, something I can’t even describe. His body is covered in wounds, his face twisted with pain, but there’s nothing that can stop him.
