Six blocks from Sunderhaven Academy, a black-and-green police cruiser sat parked in the middle of the eerily deserted street, its lights casting rhythmic flashes of red and blue across the surrounding buildings.
A tall man stepped out, his boots crunching on the cracked asphalt. His beard, an untamed cascade of dark curls, almost flipped into his face as he adjusted his hat. Colleagues often joked that his mane could make a lion envious, but no one was in the mood for humor today.
Chief Wesley Roddam strode toward a junior officer, who was busy directing the setup of hard-light barricades at the edge of the block.
"Captain Bart," Wesley greeted, his tone even but tinged with authority. "Looks like you've got the area secured. What's the status?"
Bart turned, letting out a weary sigh. His uniform was pristine, but the bags under his eyes told a different story.
"Civilians are evacuated, sir. Hard-light barricades are up, 50 meters across both ends of the street. The target's been identified as Douglas Merch, age 62. A specialty stone mason. How he got infected is still a mystery." He hesitated, then added, "This is our fourth incident in two days. People are on edge, Chief. It's starting to feel like a pattern."
Wesley nodded grimly, he knew the blood-borne nature of the freak virus wasn't prone to sudden outbreaks. His eyes scanned the scene, in the center of the cordoned-off street, a hulking figure made of jagged stone staggered in slow circles with its hands clawing at its own head. The sound of its guttural groans echoed in the stillness.
"I've already called in Rodger and his team," Bart continued. "At this rate, that poor guy's gonna drown in paperwork by Thursday."
Wesley smirked faintly. "I'll buy him lunch. But first, let's see if I can settle this before things get out of hand."
Without waiting for a response, he vaulted the barricade, his movements steady and deliberate.
"Chief, wait!" Bart called after him, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. "The only thing we've gotten out of him is that he's trying to hold something back. He might still be fighting it."
Wesley didn't stop.
The captain watched with a mixture of admiration and unease as Wesley closed the distance to the Freak. He knew the chief could handle himself—decorated war hero, a noble with a reputation for being stronger than most hunters. Wesley could've been a Freak Hunter himself, but he'd chosen a different path, one focused on protecting people before they became victims.
Even so, Bart didn't like the feel of this one. Twenty years on the force had taught him to trust his instincts, and right now, they were screaming that something was off.
The stone figure let out a low, tortured roar, its body jerking unnaturally. Wesley paused just out of its reach, his voice calm but firm.
"Mr. Merch," he said, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. "I'm here to help you. Whatever's happening, you're not alone in this. But I need you to stay with me, alright?"
The creature turned its fractured head toward Wesley, and for a moment, the jagged lines in its face softened, almost human again.
Then it screamed.
The sound was a raw, primal wail that sent shivers through every officer still standing behind the barricades.
Bart's hand hovered over his comms. "Chief…" he muttered under his breath, his knuckles white as he gripped the barricade.
Wesley held his ground, unflinching. "I'm not going anywhere," he said softly, his voice carrying a steady resolve. If only he had gotten here sooner he thought.
But even he could feel it.
Whatever was inside Douglas Merch wasn't going down without a fight.
The hulking mass of stone, brick and asphalt lunged forward, it's form taking on a more bestial appearance.
Its massive claws bore down on Wesley in a devastating arc, but the chief sidestepped the attack with effortless ease. To the onlookers, he seemed like a blur of afterimages, each hanging in place for a brief moment before vanishing, like flipping through the pages of a perfectly drawn flipbook.
The claws smashed into the road, leaving an imprint the size of a car tire. The creature—its patchwork form an unsettling blend of bear and komodo dragon—glared at Wesley with stone-faced fury. Its jagged body seemed to have settled into this grotesque shape, as if sculpted by some indecisive craftsman.
"Mr. Douglas, I think it's time we bring you in for treatment," Wesley said, his tone steady yet calm, like a teacher trying to reason with an unruly student. "You've fought the virus this long—just hold on a little longer. I'd hate to have to put you down."
The chief's words hung in the air, a familiar plea he knew would go unanswered. Newly turned Freaks rarely retained enough humanity to think rationally. The virus did too much damage, amplifying aggression, fear, and primal instincts, while unlocking unpredictable powers through the pineal reaction. Wesley had seen it all before, and he knew how these encounters usually ended.
The monstrous figure of Douglas Merch lunged forward, a hulking blur of stone and rage, its motion as sudden as a lioness pouncing on her prey. Wesley stepped forward in response, slipping under the beast's massive frame with ease. To him, the world moved in slow motion—each tick of his watch stretching into infinity. His hands shot out, gripping the creature's hind legs.
The beast crashed into the ground where Wesley had stood moments before, claws tearing into asphalt. It tried to pounce again but froze, confusion etched into its jagged features. It turned its head to see its hind legs crumbling away, brick and asphalt flowing backward as if rewinding time, returning to the street where they had once belonged.
Before the Freak could react, Wesley was on it again. His hands touched its front leg and a portion of its torso, reverting more chunks of its rocky mass to where they'd come from. Sickly, bruised flesh peeked through the gaps, raw and exposed.
A few gasps of amazement echoed from the barricades as rookie officers watched their chief work for the first time.
But the monster wasn't done. It lashed out with its remaining forelimb, forcing Wesley to dodge just in time. A shallow gash appeared across his chest, blood trickling down briefly before vanishing as quickly as it had come. Wesley glanced down at his uniform, now pristine again, and shook his head.
"Getting sloppy in my old age," he muttered with a dry chuckle, removing his hand from where the wound had been.
The monster roared—a sound of anguish, defiance, and stone grinding against stone. The noise rattled windows and left a deep hum in the chest of everyone nearby. As if on cue, the street beneath them began to shift. Bricks, stones, and even pieces of nearby buildings tore free, flowing into the creature's form. It grew larger, towering over the scene, its jagged body now an amalgamation of densely packed infrastructure.
Officers stumbled as the ground beneath their feet shifted. Flying debris narrowly missed several, and the air filled with shouts and curses. Some opened fire, but bullets and plasma rounds ricocheted off the creature's newly formed armor.
"Chief! It's pulling everything in!" Bart shouted from the barricade.
Wesley turned back briefly, watching as officers unleashed bursts of fire, ice, and lightning—noble abilities meant to turn the tide. But none of it mattered. Every chunk of material blasted away was replenished almost instantly by the surrounding environment. The monster grew to nearly four stories tall, an unstoppable force of destruction.
"This can't be…" Bart muttered, his face pale. "We're going to be wiped out."
Wesley rushed back to the barricade, his radio in hand. "All units, fall back immediately! That's an order!" he shouted, his voice carrying a calm urgency that masked his growing fear. He scanned the chaos, watching as his officers scrambled to retreat.
"Bart," he said, his tone firm but even. "You said Rodger's team was on their way?"
"Yes, sir. I notified them just before you arrived," Bart confirmed, his grip tightening on his comm.
"Good. Call it in again and alert everyone. I'll handle the evacuation here. We're not losing anyone today," Wesley replied, sprinting back toward the crumbling street without hesitation.
The monster, now looming like a grotesque skyscraper, let out another deafening roar. Pieces of its armor began to shift, reshaping into jagged weapons.
Bart fumbled with his radio, his voice shaking. "Dispatch, this is Captain Bartholomew Cheskey. Issue a citywide alert. I repeat, citywide alert—classification: kaiju class."
The air around them seemed to freeze for a moment as the weight of the words sank in.
"Copy that, Captain," dispatch replied. "Citywide alert issued."
Bart lowered the radio, his eyes fixed on the chaos before him. "God help us," he whispered.