*Detective Kathleen "Angel" Hyatt*
---
The body had been torn apart with surgical precision.
Detective Kathleen Hyatt crouched beside it, cataloging details while crime scene techs worked around her. The victim—Marcus Volkov, known lycanthrope drug dealer—lay in an alley off Pier 47.
His supernatural strength hadn't saved him.
"Thoughts?"
Captain Morrison stood upwind of the corpse. His distaste evident.
"Not a territorial dispute," Kathleen said, pointing to the wounds. "These cuts are too clean. Lycanthropes fight with claws and teeth. This was done with enhanced strength but human precision."
She traced the angle with a gloved finger.
"Someone with medical knowledge."
"Great. A supernatural with a scalpel." Morrison rubbed his face. "Media's going to have a field day. Third one this month."
Third one.
Pattern.
---
Kathleen stood, peeling off her gloves.
Thirty-two years old. Ten years on the force. Made detective in record time through skill and stubborn adherence to protocol. Highest solve rate in the precinct.
They called her "Angel." Partly for the blonde hair and disarming smile. Mostly for her ability to deliver justice.
"There's a pattern," she said carefully. "All three victims were supernatural drug dealers. All killed with the same methodical precision."
She pulled out her tablet. Showed him the crime scene photos.
"All had their blood drained post-mortem."
"Vampire serial killer?"
"Vampires don't waste blood. This was collected, not consumed." She studied the images. "Someone's harvesting supernatural blood. The question is why."
Morrison's phone rang. His expression darkened as he answered.
"Another one. Eastside. Let's go."
---
The second scene was identical.
Another dealer. Vampire this time. Same precise cuts. Same blood collection.
But this time, Kathleen found something.
A partial shoe print in the blood spatter. Too clear to be accidental.
"Whoever did this has enhanced strength but human physiology," she told Morrison. "And they wanted us to find this print."
Back at the precinct, she ran the pattern through the database. Morrison fielded calls from the mayor's office. Supernatural-on-supernatural crime was one thing. A potential serial killer targeting dealers was another.
The shoe print nagged at her.
Why leave evidence?
Her computer beeped. A match.
But not what she expected.
The tread pattern was from a limited edition shoe. Only sold at three stores in the city. Security footage from one showed a buyer from two weeks ago.
Dr. Karen Dergors.
Kathleen stared at the screen. She knew that name. DEA briefing last month. Something about research at Prometheus Institute. Potential new synthetic drugs.
"Morrison. I need to see the DEA files on Prometheus Institute."
"That's federal jurisdiction."
"Three bodies in my jurisdiction says otherwise."
---
The files painted a troubling picture.
Dergors was developing something called Chance. A temporary enhancement drug. The DEA was monitoring but hadn't acted. The research was legal. Sanctioned.
But if someone was killing dealers for supernatural blood...
Her desk phone rang.
"Hyatt."
"Detective, this is Agent Sarah Chen, DEA. I understand you've been requesting files on Prometheus."
"I have three bodies that might connect to—"
"Not on an open line. Can you meet me? Pier 19, one hour."
The line went dead.
Kathleen grabbed her jacket. Checked her service weapon out of habit. Pier 19 was in the neutral zone. Buffer between human and supernatural territories.
Safe ground for sensitive meetings.
---
Agent Chen waited in an unmarked sedan. Expression grim.
"Detective Hyatt. We need to talk about Chance."
"You know about the murders?"
"We know someone's trying to synthesize the drug outside official channels. The blood harvesting fits. They'd need supernatural samples to reverse-engineer the formula."
Chen handed her a file.
"Two weeks ago, partial synthesis instructions were leaked from Prometheus. We've been trying to track down who has them."
Kathleen flipped through the pages. "Why haven't you shut down Dergors' research?"
"Because officially, Chance could revolutionize human-supernatural relations."
Chen's jaw tightened.
"Unofficially? We've seen what happens in the test markets. The drug works, but it's addictive. Physically addictive. Users need increasing doses. Withdrawal can be fatal."
The pieces clicked together in Kathleen's mind.
"So we have a drug that gives humans supernatural powers. Created by a respected scientist. Being copied by someone who's killing dealers for raw materials."
"And it's about to hit the streets. It's already there. Small batches. Testing the market. Seattle. Chicago. Miami. Users call it 'going enhanced' or 'catching Chance.'"
Kathleen thought of the shoe print. Deliberately left.
"The killer wants us to find them. They're not hiding. They're advertising. Showing they can take down supernatural dealers. Probably to corner the market."
"We're forming a task force," Chen said. "Joint operation. DEA, local police, supernatural enforcement. We need someone who knows the city. Understands both communities."
"When do we start?"
"Tomorrow. Operation No Chance. Your captain will get the paperwork."
Chen paused.
"Detective, this is bigger than three bodies. If Chance proliferates, it could destabilize everything. The peace between humans and supernaturals is fragile enough."
---
Driving back, Kathleen's mind raced.
A drug that could level the playing field between species. Dealers being hunted. A scientist whose work was being perverted. And somewhere in the city, someone preparing to flood the streets with a substance that could shatter five years of tentative coexistence.
She thought of her nephew. Eight years old. Attending an integrated school where human and supernatural children played together.
The world he was growing up in wasn't perfect. But it was better than the segregation and fear that had followed Disclosure.
Chance threatened all of it.
At her desk, she created a new case file: "Operation No Chance."
Three bodies were just the beginning.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown number. Text message:
*You found the shoe. Good. The next body will have more clues. Happy hunting, Angel.*
Kathleen's blood chilled.
The killer knew her nickname. Knew she was investigating.
This wasn't just about cornering the drug market.
It was a game.
And she'd just become a player.
---