Missy had just stepped out of the store, her thoughts spiraling into something cold and jagged, when she heard a voice behind her.
"Missy."
She turned sharply, ready for anything. A figure stood at the edge of the police line, wearing a large, dust-stained coat, boots still wet from the morning rain. The hair was pulled back, the eyes sharp and tired.
It was Dina.
But not the same Dina from before. This one stood straighter, spoke with a strange calm. Her fear was buried beneath layers of something hardened.
"Dina," Missy whispered, eyes wide. "You're alive."
"Yes," Dina nodded. "Though I wouldn't say untouched."
She crossed under the yellow tape and walked with purpose, slipping beside Missy as if she belonged there. Her voice was lower than usual, measured—almost clinical.
"I saw what happened to Officer Lance," she said. "From across the street. I didn't intervene. I wasn't ready."
Missy looked at her closely. She seemed… different. Like someone who had memorized pain and now wore it as armor.
"I'm sorry," Dina said. "For disappearing. For leaving you alone with this."
"I thought you were gone," Missy murmured.
"I thought so too," Dina replied, then after a pause added, "But survival is a curious thing. It forces clarity."
Missy swallowed. "Then help me. Please. I need to know what Michael's doing. I think it's happening all over again."
Dina nodded once.
"Then let's not waste time. Whatever he's building... we tear it down."
They glanced behind the house, behind the shop. It was somehow connected.
The house behind the shop looked ordinary enough—quiet, still, dressed in layers of dust and forgotten furniture. But as Missy and Dina stepped through the door, something shifted.
It wasn't just a house.
It watched.
The air was heavy, unnaturally warm, like the walls were sweating. Every creak beneath their feet felt calculated, as if the floorboards were alerting something deep within. They passed faded portraits whose faces had been scratched out, glass cracked as if done by fingernails in a moment of madness.
"This place…" Missy whispered. "It's not right."
Dina nodded but said nothing. Her eyes were drawn to everything—the light bulbs that flickered when they passed, the hum in the air that wasn't electricity. It was something else. Breathing.
They moved carefully from room to room, searching for signs—records, papers, clues.
Nothing.
Until they reached the storage room.
Boxes were stacked high, some labeled, others scrawled with looping numbers that didn't match any system Missy had seen. It wasn't until Dina noticed a faint draft—a soft push of cold from behind the shelves—that something clicked.
"Help me," she said.
Together, they shifted the boxes. Beneath them, a panel of the wall had been sawed away crudely and hastily shoved back into place. They pulled it loose—and behind it was a narrow passage, wrapped in darkness.
Missy felt her throat tighten. "You think it leads to—"
"Yes."
They stepped inside.
The passageway led downward, sloping in a way that should have been impossible beneath such a small home. The walls turned to metal, then wires—thousands of wires, pulsing faintly like veins under skin.
At the end of the tunnel, the hallway opened into a wide chamber lit by a single hanging bulb that throbbed red like a heartbeat.
And there he was.
Michael Harrington.
Not seated. Not standing.
Connected.
He hung in the center of the room, suspended by dozens of thick, twitching cables, each disappearing into walls, into ceilings, into the very structure of the house. His arms were outstretched, cruciform, stripped of skin in places where the wires had fused into him. His chest moved slowly, breath drawn mechanically by the pulses of the wires.
His eyes opened—glossy, lifeless, and yet aware.
"You found me," he whispered.
His voice echoed through the room and the walls—as if the house had spoken, not the man.
Missy stepped back, horrified.
Dina's voice was a dry whisper. "He's inside the walls…"
"No," Michael murmured, and the light flickered. "I am the walls."
And suddenly, behind them, the door they entered through slammed shut.
The house shuddered.
Somewhere above, pipes groaned.
Electricity crack
And Michael smiled with burned lips.
"Welcome home."
The surroundings suddenly shook. The house and the shop were colliding violently. Back to back.
They found rocks had fallen to the ground inside the hatch while it shook. Clouds of dust covered the room.
They coughed. Michael remained in his place.
The collision has stopped. The officers ran towards the house behind and entered. Kevin and his girlfriend, Natasha, also arrived and went in.
All of them stepped inside. The doors closed. Windows were covered. It was pitch black.
The 6 Officers opened their lights, they heard a humming noise from a lady.