Rory
Another mutilated body has been dumped in Main Street Park.
I stare at the message longer than I should. It shouldn’t bother me anymore. Bodies show up all the time. That’s what happens when you live in a place like this. But my chest still tightens anyway. Because every time I see one, I wonderif this is how my brother looked. If this is what they turned him into. A shell of himself.
I groan, glancing at the clock on my bedside table and sigh. “It’s four a.m. Can’t this shit ever wait?” I mutter to the ceiling.
This is getting old.Not the bodies. Those never stop. It’s everything else that comes with them.
I'm part of a rogue operation in District 2. There aren’t many of us left. Not like there used to be. Either they were killed or gave up. But that doesn’t stop us from trying to stop the Order of Ash from hurting any more people.
They thrive on fear, abducting people and mutilating their bodies to keep the district under their control. It’s not hard to do when you are backed by the district’s council. The council uses the Order to instill fear throughout the district, letting them do whatever they want as long as it keeps us all in line.
We hunt them. Or at least we try to. We've taken down a fair number, but it never feels like enough. For every one we eliminate, more seem to take their place—like roaches.
I sit on the edge of the bed, gazing around my one-bedroom apartment. I live in the district’s slums—by choice, for now. It’s one of my own choices. It’s just easier to live out of the prying eyes of the council. Nothing pretty is here. My room has a full-size bed, one bedside table, and a tiny closet to house my clothes. The walls are an ugly tan, and my ceiling fan wobbles so much I barely even turn it on.
The air outside is thick with rot and stagnant water. Garbage bakes into the pavement. People move like ghosts—hollow eyes,worn clothes, nothing left behind them. Even the kids don’t play here anymore. No one wants to come to the slums which makes it perfect for us. Less eyes watching what we do.
I catch my reflection in the mirror—dark circles under my eyes, hair a mess from another night without real sleep.
I look like the rest of this city. Tired. Worn down. Barely holding it together. Joey used to hate mornings. Said nothing good ever happened before sunrise. Guess he was right considering most of my call-outs happen before the sun is in the sky.
I brush my teeth and pull my hair into a messy bun. No point in making myself presentable. All I’m doing is going to look at a dead body. They call me in for every body that washes up. I’m the head of our investigations unit after all. But, I wasn’t always. I didn’t even want this job. But after Joey—I needed to know. Needed to understand what they did to him. How they killed him. If he suffered. If he called for me and I wasn’t there.
We live in their filth and fear—but our rebellion? That’s ours. Everyone is a part of our coalition for their own reasons. Some of us want revenge for the people we have lost due to the Order of Ash's existence, and some just can’t stand to live under the thumb of the cult’s faction. Either way, we all work together toward the same goal—take them out.
Slipping on my boots, I tie each one tight and grab my bag from the hook next to the front door. You don’t walk around outside without some form of protection, and my protection is my Glock 9mm, which I carry with me everywhere I go.You can never be too careful.
The Order of Ash attacks when you least expect it. Hell, even the other people living in the slums and the district will kill you, if they want to. This place has not been safe since well… ever. I’ve lived in this area all my life, and it has never been safe to just walk around and enjoy yourself. We live in a dog eat dog world. You either fight for your life, or you die. Over the years, the killings have progressed more and more.
I pull to the curb of the park, and my car lights shine on the ground where the body lies. Five of our team members circle around the body. I’d be lying if I said I was surprised no cops are on the scene. The cops around here are a part of the corrupt government, which serves the cult. All of them are pawns in the council’s games. Anyone in power here only cares about one thing: getting more.
I exit the car and snap on some gloves, strolling over to the group of people crowding around each other on this damp, cold morning.
Thomas sees me first. His eyes light up—annoyingly chipper for a murder scene. “It’s about time you showed. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come at all since you didn’t reply to me,” he grumbles and crosses his arms.
I roll my eyes at him. “You’re lucky I even heard the text, Asshole. It’s four in the morning.”
I move beyond him and squat next to the body, if we can even call it that. The smell hits first. Rot. Blood. Something sour that clings to the back of my throat. I should be used to it by now. But my stomach still turns anyway. I force it down. Because if Ilet myself feel it— I’ll start thinking about him again. Remembering what he looked like as a kid when he would get scared. Picturing that same look on his face as the cult drove the knife into his skin. I take in a shaking breath before I step closer.
My boots squish in the mud where the blood has seeped into the grass and you can no longer tell where the blood ends and the mud begins.
Pieces of the body are missing, scattered around the circle it lies in. “It looks like a ritual sacrifice with all these candles and the pentagram they’re lying on.” I lift one of the candles from the ground to get a closer look. The cult uses very specific ones. I shake my head. “These are knockoffs. The cult doesn’t use cheap shit like this.” I return the candle where I got it from.
“Maybe they ran out of the good candles,” Thomas says, standing over me.
I scoff.Doubtful.The cult practically runs this fucking place, having everything handed to them on a platter. There is no way they would run out of supplies. I look closer at the chalk patterns on the ground beneath her. Instead of meticulously drawn lines for a pentagram, they are scrawled haphazardly all around her as if they were placed there after she was laid on the ground.
Something’s off.Everything here is wrong. The disorganized scene clashes with my knowledge of the many ritual killings I have investigated. In fact, the blood patterns look chaotic, just smeared across the ground as if to mimic an occult offering, where normally they are precise and to the point.
I lift the tattered shirt, or what remains of it, from her abdomen to show a crude pentagram cut into the skin. It is shallow and uneven, suggesting an amateur attempted it. A real ritualist would’ve carved it clean—with purpose. This looks… angry.
I sit back on my heels. “This doesn’t look like a ritual killing, Thomas.”
He points at the chalk on the ground. “How do you explain that? Only the cult members use this shit for their sacrifices.”
I let out a breath and stand. “Listen, the candles are wrong. The chalk symbols look like they were added after the body was dumped here. The blood is chaotic and all over the place. This looks like a rage killing. Not something the cult would do.”
