"Fuck, how do I lose in my own head?" Officer Mark murmured, grumbling over his loss to an imaginary ninja serial killer.
The stale coffee in the thermos lid had long since lost its heat, but Officer Mark Rourke took a sip anyway, the bitter taste somehow soothing him. "What's up with you, Duke?" He suddenly asked, turning to his companion.
In the passenger seat, Duke, a sleek, brindle-coated Greyhound with his ears pricked forward, let out a soft whine in response
"Yeah it's a shitty day for all of us," Mark murmured, scratching behind the dog's ears with a heavy sigh. Duke was a rescue, retrained from the track to a different kind of hunt.
He wasn't for drugs or suspects, no Duke smelled fire (the specific smell of superheated materials, electrical shorts, and smoke that were still invisible to humans).
At the moment, they were cruising past the Dark Woods, its shadowy gloom sucking up what little light the sun provided, the road long and winding.
"Greeee!"
Suddenly, Duke's whine sharpened into a low growl, attracting Mark's attention. "You okay, boy? I know you don't like the woods, but we'll be out of here soon."
As he spoke, he glanced over and noticed that the dog was rigid, his nose pressed against the slight gap in the patrol car's window, nostrils flaring. "Easy, Duke. Probably just a fancy cigar from some penthouse balcony," Mark argued.
But Duke didn't calm down. Instead, he let out a single, sharp "Bark!" (a sound like a gunshot in the quiet car). Then another. And another.
It wasn't a frantic, panicked bark, rather; it was focused, insistent, and deadly serious.
'Something's up,' Mark's own instincts flared, as he hit the brakes, pulling the cruiser to the curb, his voice tight as he said, "Show me."
"Bark!"
"Bark!"
Duke's barking intensified, his whole body straining toward the north side of the were a path could be seen.
Mark, in response to this, threw the car into drive and eased forward, his eyes scanning the towering trees.
Then he saw it: not smoke, not yet, but a faint, shimmering distortion in the air near the very top of the building, the penthouse level.
It was similar to a heat haze on a summer road, but it was never that hot, not even in summer, hell it was the middle of the afternoon and the sky still looked like it was about to rain heavily, it was always like that.
"BARK!"
"BARK!"
Duke was going berserk at this point, barking relentlessly, paws scrabbling at the window.
"Okay, boy. I see it! Good boy! What a good dog!" Mark said as he slammed the gas pedal.
"Vroom!" The cruiser shot forward, tires squealing as he drove down the road, leaving faint skid marks behind. The penthouse came into view shortly after.
The penthouse wasn't just hazy, it bore a flickering, orange light that pulsed behind its floor-to-ceiling windows.
He saw a tendril of black smoke, oily and thick, curling from under a terrace door before vanishing into the cold air.
The house was on fire.
"Screech!" He skidded the cruiser to a halt, just before he reached the building and then pressed the mic on his shoulder radio, his voice calm but urgent, cutting through the static. The radio groaned.
"Dispatch, Unit 7-Adam-56, be advised, I have a visual on a structure fire! Penthouse level, northeast corner. I have visible flames and smoke. Repeat, active fire at penthouse. This is not a drill."
He took a breath, his eyes locked on the growing glow above.
"Dispatch, signal a full first-alarm response. Engine, Ladder, Rescue, and Ambulances. I am initiating evacuation of the immediate floors. Suspect the building's alarm may not have been triggered yet."
After he was done, he didn't wait for a confirmation and flung his door open, but then his dog jumped out, running towards the back of the building.
He wanted to shout his name, but when he saw an ominous silhouette, he drew his gun and rushed towards it, his steps hurried. 'That guy picked the wrong fight,' he thought.
Unfortunately, upon reaching he noticed that both the dog and what it was pursuing had already gone too far, shocking him greatly, 'Who the fuck can keep with a greyhound?'
Meanwhile, Duke, the Greyhound, huffed as he chased after a man wearing a grey t-shirt, surprised at how the two-legged ho-man could keep pace.
But it was catching up quickly, his mouth watering slightly when he thought about all the treats he would receive upon catching its prey.
Both figures streaked through the woods, at speeds impossible for any human to replicate, but after about sixty seconds and one kilometer of tress and dirt, the Greyhound began to tire out, and it wasn't the only one.
"Stichhh!"
The human he was chasing slowed drastically, and the hound, seeing this opportunity, dove towards him, maw wide open.
Quickly, the human ducked and rolled on the dirt, getting to his feet as soon as possible.
"Bam!" Both figures streaked across the forest floor, steadying themselves.
Observing the human before it, the Greyhound was spooked by its eyes, which appeared darker and more... spinny than what it was used to.
"Greeee," but it growled nonetheless, and lunged, but the human dodged effortlessly swaying to the side.
Fortunately, he had predicted this (pure instinct), which was why he had jumped low, and the moment his paws touched the ground, he lunged again. 'Foolish human!'
Argh," the ho-man groaned as the beast clamped down on his leg, his bite leaving deep wounds, his teeth sinking deeper.
But something was wrong. The ho-man in what could only be described as an instinctive act, grabbed it by its neck and slammed it against a tree.
"Bam!" The Greyhound hit hard, whimpering. He felt his bones crack, his gaze blurring as the ho-man moved in for the kill...
"Duke!" But at that moment, Mark's voice sounded out, seemingly shocking the scary human, who rushed into the woods with unnerving speed, his form seemingly unaffected by the bite.
-----
Meanwhile, a long distance away, Mr. Valen's face was scrunched, his form zigzagging through the forest like a phantom.
Looking to his side, he saw a pack of wolves running alongside him for a moment, but he overtook them with ease.
His phantom was nowhere to be found; the thing appeared randomly, but he didn't mind, as he found it slightly unnerving.
At the moment, Mr. Valen had no idea where he was going, but he figured that if he kept heading straight, he'd hit open road... at some point.
"Argh," he grunted, the pain in his ankle flaring up into a bright, sharp agony as he slowed, a deep exhaustion seeping into his muscles.
He had wanted to test his strength against the Greyhound but had evidently underestimated its capabilities.
He also had no practical experience fighting; even his second mother, herself a serial killer, had not exposed him to that particular aspect of violence.
"Fighting is different for everyone; you must find your own style," he remembered her words, which had puzzled him until now.
When it came to her, his memories were scrambled, unorganized; he didn't even know what she looked like. No one did.
Even when she was caught, she plunged herself into a fire, rendering her features unidentifiable.
"Did she know about this world? Was she like me?" Mr. Valen muttered to himself, he was sure that whatever was wrong with him was her fault.
Amethyst also seemed to know things about his mother, and that was part of the reason he wished to find her.
But the main reason was...
"Retribution," he growled, his fist balling as he took a breath. 'This feeling... So this is anger. I think... It is most distasteful.'
With that thought, he resumed moving at a slower but steady pace.