Far Harbor’s customs district glows red under the storm clouds. The service spine hums beneath the concrete, and the pulse from inland answers it like a wound reopening. Dallas, Jackson, Elena, and Murderbone reach the gate as alarms start to stutter awake.
Jackson Temple
That signal is the relay call. Someone inside is feeding it. I can hide the evidence, but not if they get another minute.
Elena Vane
Then we cut them off now. Whoever is in there knows we are coming, so stop giving them time.
Murderbone
Low growl, body tight, eyes fixed on the service door.
A Harbor Unit truck sits crooked by the loading bay, lights dark. Fresh boot marks cut through the wet grit toward a hatch in the wall, and a red glow leaks through its seam like a brake light under a coffin lid.
Dallas Fontaine
Dallas tells them to cover the exits and move on the hatch.
Murderbone surges to the left flank. Jackson drops low with his weapon up. Elena angles for the side stairs, watching the truck, the door, and the shadow behind it all at once. The hatch shudders from below, as if something heavy is turning in place.
The Mole
You are late, detective. The city already heard the call.
The voice comes from the darkness beside the hatch, where a Harbor Unit badge catches the red light. The figure reaches for the control box, and the pulse spikes hard enough to make the concrete tremble. Dallas stands at the edge of the breach, with the city’s pulse, the mole, and the hatch all in front of him.
“I shoot the mole by the hatch”
SUCCESS (Superb Firearms, rolled -1)
Dallas fires once, clean and flat. The mole jerks back from the control box, badge spinning out of his hand as the red pulse stutters in the hatch seam.
The shot cracks the quiet open. Glass from the control box splinters across the wet concrete, and the alarm above them hiccups into a strangled squeal.
The Mole
You should have stayed at the gate.
Jackson swings his weapon toward the shadows, while Elena snaps her gaze to the side stairs, catching movement in the truck cab. Murderbone surges forward, teeth bared, blocking the hatch from a second body Dallas has not seen yet.
Dallas Fontaine
The control box is hit, but not dead. Something inside the wall is still taking the pulse.
The mole clutches his shoulder and stumbles off the hatch line, leaving a smear on the wet concrete. The red glow fades to a thinner, meaner line, and the city-wide thrum below them drops into a harsh mechanical tick.
Jackson Temple
He is bleeding out. Dallas, I have the route map, but we need that box before it wakes anything else.
The hatch stays shut, the badge lies in the rain, and the service spine map flashes once in Jackson's grip as the shadow in the truck cab shifts toward the door.
The hatch dimmed. The customs gate steadied as Jackson and Elena held the line, while Murderbone stared into the truck cab.
The Mole
You think this ends it? You just cracked the lid.
Dallas Fontaine
It ends your control. That's enough.
Jackson Temple
Pulse is dropping. City is still breathing.
Elena Vane
Then we did our job.
Murderbone
Something moved in there. Let it.
By dawn, the customs district was sealed and the coven's chain on the city's infrastructure was broken. Dallas Fontaine stood with the wreckage, the silence after the pulse feeling almost like mercy. The city kept its rhythm, and this chapter was done.