Something stalks you in the shadows, and it's up to you to find out what!
Y/N's first case as a detective is forcing her to open her eyes to a world bigger than she thought. But maybe it's better to keep them closed.
Knowing too much doesn't help a...
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That evening, you were surprised to find the old and abandon warehouse is still standing as in some kind of defiance towards time. The roof isn't putting up as much of a fight, though.
The metal, corrugated tiles are peeling away, some, already fallen, lie discarded on the swathe of concrete spreading out from the building like a dull, grey moat.
The warehouse is hidden from view of the town by the forest and is far enough out on the edge that no one really pays it much attention. Or just like the other old places like people, it was mostly forgotten as well.
There is still enough of a trail through the trees for you to drive your car up to the building, though you find your teeth clacking together more than once over the uneven dirt track. Thankful to pull up onto the concrete, the cracks are easier to deal with than the tree roots.
Cranking on the handbrake, you lean over my passenger seat, ignoring the piles of crumpled paperwork, until your hands find the slim handle of your flashlight. It's a weighty piece of equipment, but its light slices through the gloom easily as you step out of the car.
You glance over the shadowed scene of the abandoned warehouse, the moon beginning to rise behind it, as if it was making you feel like a dumb character out of a horror movie.
The silence from the surrounding trees only makes the squeak of the metal doors echo louder. You can't help your mind running to who or what you might find inside, and whether it might be dangerous.
It's a really benefit that you can handle yourself well in a fight, if it comes to that. But still, the uncertainty of the situation makes you anxious regarding the recent murder.
With this thought, your hand travels to the gun and pepper spray on your belt, though the gesture doesn't help to settle your nerves as much as you'd hoped. You can't tell if it's the chill night air or worry that makes you suddenly shiver, but you do your best to brush the feeling away.
As you press onwards into the warehouse, you look around, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible.
When you get inside, you sweep your flashlight across the interior of the warehouse, the beam of light flashing through the murky darkness. It definitely seems empty, though you're not sure if that is a relief, or more of a concern.
Your shoes hit the dirt-caked floor, and you glance down. The tiles must have been rather beautiful at one point. Hints of yellow and red jut out between the dried mud, dust, and plants as your shoes scuff against them.
Graffiti lines most of the crumbling walls - all of it spray-painted with perfect spelling and grammar. God forbid one of the rebellious rich kids's parents find out they had spelled 'this place stink' incorrectly.
