"Did someone pump these rats full of steroids or something? How the hell are they this aggressive?"
"And they just keep coming out of the sewers. How long are we supposed to keep dealing with this?"
The two sanitation workers trudged down the street, their expressions heavy with frustration and exhaustion. Their movements were sluggish, weighed down not just by the sacks slung over their shoulders, but by the sheer absurdity of what they'd been dealing with all day.
Every few steps, the cloth bags on their backs twitched violently.
A muffled scratching sound came from inside, followed by sharp, high-pitched squeaks that cut through the air. One of the men frowned, adjusting the bag before finally tugging it open just enough to peek inside.
What he saw made his face twist in disgust.
The sack was crammed full of rats, their bodies tangled together in a chaotic mass. Several of them were actively biting into others, tearing into flesh with frantic, almost rabid intensity.
"My God… these things are eating each other alive."
The two men exchanged uneasy glances but didn't slow down. Whatever was happening, it wasn't normal, and neither of them wanted to think too hard about why.
They pushed through the doors of the city's pest control facility and headed straight for the incineration unit. Without hesitation, they dumped the sacks into the furnace, and within seconds, a chorus of shrill hissing filled the room.
The fire roared to life, swallowing the writhing mass whole.
A thick, acrid smell began to spread through the air as the bodies burned, forcing one of the men to turn his head away with a grimace.
Before either of them could say anything else, a tall figure approached.
He carried his own sack over one shoulder, his posture straight, his expression calm in a way that felt almost out of place given the circumstances.
"Where's it worst?" he asked.
The two men looked up, immediately recognizing him.
"Oh, Vasily. You're gonna want to check out the reservoir over in the west district. Heard it's crawling over there." One of them let out a tired laugh, rubbing his temples. "Honestly, if they don't bump our pay after this, I'm done. This job's not worth it."
Vasily didn't respond to the complaint. He simply adjusted the strap on his shoulder and turned, heading for the door without another word.
For him, this wasn't just another job.
It was responsibility.
As one of New York's rat catchers, he had always taken his work seriously, but this situation was different. The scale alone made it impossible to ignore, and the behavior of the rats pushed it firmly into unfamiliar territory.
Something was wrong.
And he intended to find out what.
Behind him, one of the workers leaned against the wall and lifted his pant leg with a wince. Blood trickled down from a fresh bite on his ankle, the wound small but deep enough to sting.
"Damn things got me," he muttered under his breath.
…
The reservoir sat on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by quiet stretches of land that felt almost disconnected from the usual chaos of New York. It was one of the few places where the noise of traffic didn't dominate everything.
But the silence here didn't feel peaceful.
It felt wrong.
Vasily arrived quickly, his sharp eyes scanning the area before settling on the sewer outlets nearby. Even from a distance, he could see movement.
Then the sound came.
A flood of squeaking erupted from the pipes as a swarm of rats burst out, spilling onto the ground in a chaotic wave. Their numbers were overwhelming, their movements frantic, and for the first time in a long while, Vasily felt a flicker of unease.
This wasn't normal infestation behavior.
Something was driving them out.
His expression hardened as he considered the possibilities. Rats didn't abandon their territory without reason, and whatever could force them out in such numbers had to be something worse.
Much worse.
Instead of immediately setting traps, he shifted his approach.
Find the source.
Only by dealing with whatever was beneath the surface could he stop this at its root.
He located a nearby manhole and gripped the heavy iron cover, muscles tensing as he dragged it aside. After setting his gear down near the opening, he descended carefully, boots hitting the metal ladder with controlled precision.
The deeper he went, the heavier the air became.
New York's sewer system was massive, originally designed not just for waste but as part of older infrastructure that allowed for expanded underground access. The space was wide, the tunnels stretching far beyond what most people would expect.
When Vasily reached the bottom, he switched on his flashlight.
The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating damp stone walls and sluggish streams of foul-smelling water that ran through the passage. His rubber boots splashed lightly as he stepped forward, his attention sharp, his movements measured.
He swept the light around.
Nothing.
That was the problem.
There should have been rats here. Plenty of them. Instead, the tunnel was unnaturally quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears and made every instinct scream that something was off.
Vasily moved deeper.
One step. Then another.
Then he stopped.
Shapes.
Up ahead, just beyond the reach of the light, several figures stood hunched in the shadows. They didn't move. They didn't react.
They just stood there.
Every instinct in his body tightened.
This was the last place he expected to find people, especially this many, and something about the way they held themselves set off alarms in his head. He didn't call out. He didn't take another step forward.
Instead, he slowly raised the flashlight.
The beam landed on them.
Pale skin. Bald heads. Eyes that glowed with a deep, unnatural red.
Vasily's breath caught for a fraction of a second as the details snapped into focus.
These weren't people.
A low, guttural sound echoed through the tunnel, like something swallowing just out of sight. The noise crawled along the walls, amplifying itself in the confined space.
Vasily took a step back.
Then another.
He didn't turn his back on them, keeping the light trained forward as he retreated, every muscle ready to react.
And then—
They moved.
A violent roar shattered the silence as the figures lunged forward all at once, their bodies snapping into motion with terrifying speed.
"Fuck!"
The word came out instinctively as Vasily spun and ran.
The flashlight slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground as he sprinted for the ladder, boots pounding against the wet stone. Behind him, the creatures surged forward, their movements fast, relentless, closing the distance with unnatural ease.
He reached the ladder and climbed.
Fast.
Faster than he ever had before.
But they were right behind him.
Closer than they should've been.
As he neared the top, his eyes locked onto the manhole cover above.
Closed.
His heart dropped.
He hadn't thought about it when he came down, but now it stood between him and escape like a solid wall.
Grinding his teeth, he prepared to slam into it, to force it open with everything he had—
Then something shifted beneath his feet.
For a split second, his balance wavered.
And in that moment—
The cover above him moved.
It lifted.
Sunlight poured down into the tunnel, blinding after the darkness, washing over his face and spilling onto the figures climbing below him.
The reaction was immediate.
A roar—different this time, filled with pain—echoed upward as the creatures recoiled. Their pale skin began to smoke where the light touched it, thin wisps rising as they hissed and scrambled backward.
One by one, they retreated, disappearing into the darkness they had come from.
Vasily hauled himself out of the manhole, chest heaving as he dragged in deep breaths of air. His body trembled slightly, adrenaline still coursing through him as he processed what had just happened.
He turned, looking at the two men standing nearby.
Relief flickered across his face, quickly followed by confusion.
"Thanks," he said, his voice rough.
His gaze lingered on the man in front of him.
Locke stepped forward, extending a hand, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he studied the bearded rat catcher.
"Vasily."
The name landed cleanly, and Vasily's expression sharpened immediately, suspicion rising to the surface as he glanced between Locke and Gus.
"How do you know my name?"
Locke didn't answer right away.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his tone calm, almost casual. "I know more than just your name. I know why the rats are running."
Vasily's brows pulled together. "Because of those things down there?"
"No." Locke stepped closer to the edge of the manhole, his gaze dropping into the darkness below. For a moment, his expression shifted, something colder settling behind his eyes. "They're not people."
The shadows below seemed to breathe.
"They're the most dangerous predators on this planet."
For a brief moment, the darkness beneath the city felt alive, as if something deep within it was watching, waiting.
Locke's lips curved slightly.
Blood Lord… I'm coming.