Ahead of us stood the Science Building, a stark contrast to the other structures we had passed. It was a modern monolith, built of glass and steel, its reflective surfaces throwing back the image of the campus around it.

  We walked up to the imposing entrance, the automatic glass doors sliding open as we approached. The lobby was a stark, sterile space, filled with the quiet hum of electronics and the faint smell of chemicals. We stepped onto the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. As we ascended, the campus outside became a smaller and smaller model of itself, until it seemed we could reach out and lift the clock tower with a single finger.

  Reaching the top floor, we were greeted by a maze of laboratory spaces filled with the latest technology. The scent of disinfectants and solvents was more potent here. We moved past the labs, nodding at the few researchers busy with their work. At the end of the long corridor, we found a heavy metal door marked 'Roof Access - Authorized Personnel Only'. It was being guarded by a uniformed officer, who Knight and I flashed our badges at.

  The door creaked open to reveal a narrow staircase, climbing upward into the dimly lit space above. We ascended, our footsteps echoing around us. The air grew cooler as we climbed, the sounds of the building below fading away.

  Finally, we reached the rooftop. It was a sea of gravel and HVAC units, with the occasional vent or pipe jutting out. It was an unglamorous space, a far cry from the grandeur of the campus below. But the view was breathtaking. We stood on the precipice of the campus, the entire university spread out before us like a map, flanked by the Old Quarter on one side and the modern city on the other. This was where the fight had happened, where one student's life had tragically ended.

  The crime scene was a grim contrast to the stunning panorama spread out below. The rooftop was cordoned off with the familiar yellow police tape, flapping gently in the cool breeze. Discarded remnants of a deadly confrontation were scattered nearby—a singed textbook, a twisted metal rod that might have been a weapon, and the faint, almost undetectable scent of burnt ozone, hinting at the use of electrical powers.

  Knight and I walked over to where the body lay. A young man barely twenty years of age, face and body so badly beaten I doubted his own mother would’ve recognized him. His hands also seemed blackened and burned, as if he had been channelling powers that his skin and flesh couldn’t handle.

  “This is a strange one,” said Gordon Mackey, the acting Medical Examiner. The bald Polynesian stood over the body, his face impassive and inscrutable as an ancient stone carving. His familiarity with the stark reality of death had long since tempered any visceral reactions. His eyes held not a glimmer of shock or discomfort, only the analytical sharpness of a seasoned professional assessing an intriguing puzzle.

  “Arn’t they all these days?” I said in response. “I hear some weird shit went down here.”

  “Powered college students if witnesses are to be believed.”

  “Not too hard to believe going by the state of this guy,” Knight said. “What do you make of his hands, Gordon?”

  “I’d say they were burned to a crisp by electricity. How, I don’t know.”

  “I think we know,” I said, looking around the scene. “Just like we know how he got so badly beaten. No ordinary college kid did this to him.”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Mackey said. “But it’s your job to come up with a story to explain this madness, Drake.”

  “What is this?” Knight asked, her voice tinged with disgust as she pointed to a hole in the victim’s abdomen that appeared to be leaking a thick viscous fluid.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Mackey said. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this boy’s insides had been liquified and are now leaking out of him. I’ll not know for sure until I do the autopsy.”

  “Jesus. Why would that happen?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Detective.”

  Beneath my flesh, the ink stirred, a primal vibration that tugged me inexorably toward the edge of the rooftop. Surveying the courtyard below, I noted the swarm of students gawking upward, their faces twisted in a macabre fascination. However, one figure stood out against the tide of curious onlookers.

  A cloaked figure skulked in a distant corner, obscured by the creeping shadows. An instinctual shudder rippled through the ink under my skin as soon as my eyes landed on him. It was a silent alarm, an accusation of guilt. He was the one responsible for the lifeless body lying mere feet from me on this rooftop.

  As if sensing my gaze, he looked up, his eyes meeting mine. Recognition sparked in his gaze, acknowledging my silent accusation. He turned to depart hastily, but a sudden pain seemed to seize him. He hunched over, clutching his abdomen in apparent agony. Perhaps an injury from his lethal brawl?

  The sprawling university campus and the throng of students could easily offer him refuge, a perfect place to disappear. I couldn't let that happen.

  Charged with the energy pulsating through my veins, I sprung into action. The world blurred around me as I dashed toward the rooftop edge, propelled by a strength that felt almost supernatural. The wind howled past me, a sign of my preternatural speed.

  In one seamless motion, I flung myself off the precipice, my heart thudding in rhythm with the pulsating ink. My eyes remained fixated on the retreating figure as I plummeted, the ground rising rapidly to meet me. Extending an arm, I brushed against the building's rough brick exterior, using it as a fulcrum to adjust my trajectory mid-fall before my feet found solid ground on a balcony one floor down.

  Without pause, I vaulted the balcony railing, my movements as fluid as water. I hit the ground running, the concrete a smear beneath my ink-powered stride. The thrumming tattoos guided me through the startled crowd, an internal compass pointing toward my target.

  Despite the distance he had managed to cover, the suspect's powers seemed to falter. He flickered in and out, teleporting a few yards ahead before collapsing again in pain. His powers were deteriorating.

  With a surge of effort, I closed the distance, leaping over benches and ducking under low-hanging tree branches. The suspect was faltering, his movements growing increasingly erratic as his powers continued to wane. He stumbled, tripping over his own feet, giving me the opening I needed.

  As he struggled to regain his footing, I was upon him. My hand shot out, latching onto his arm as he attempted another desperate flight. His body convulsed, and he crumpled to the ground, his powers abandoning him. As we hit the ground, a cloud of dust rose around us.

  "Stay down," I ordered, my voice a steady rock amidst the adrenaline-fueled chaos. I pinned him down with a firm knee to his lower back. “Didn't anyone ever tell you it's a bad idea to return to the scene of the crime?”

  The suspect offered no response, his body seized by a violent convulsion that rocked him from head to toe. Like a gruesome geyser, blood gushed from his mouth, splattering onto the parched earth beneath us, transforming it into a morbid canvas of crimson splatters.

  A wave of confusion crashed over me. What the hell was happening to him?

  Cautiously, I shifted my weight, standing partially to get a better look at him. I rolled the suspect onto his back. His face, once hidden by the hood, was now a macabre mask—smeared with a slick sheen of blood, his eyes a shocking, unnatural red. They bulged from their sockets, a silent scream echoing in their depths. Disorientation gripped me as I absorbed the frightful scene before me, the uncanny silence only intensifying the grim display.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked him.

  A hushed circle of onlookers had materialized, their faces a collective mask of shock and morbid fascination. A few of them shrieked in horror, their voices piercing the air as they bore witness to the blood-splattered scene that unfolded before them.

  The suspect in my grip convulsed once more, his cry of anguish rending the silence, echoing off the surrounding buildings. His body arched in a spine-bending arc, an unnerving display of his torment. Then, as quickly as it started, it ended. He fell slack in my grip, his body lifeless. I didn't need to search for a pulse to confirm what was evident—he was dead.

  No sooner had the suspect's life flickered out, a uniformed officer came barreling toward the scene, her hand instinctively resting on her holstered weapon.

  "Clear the area," I ordered her, my voice carrying a gravity that brooked no argument. "Move these people away and get this place cordoned off."

  With a curt nod of understanding, the officer sprang into action, her authoritative voice breaking through the cacophony of murmurs and sobs as she began to disperse the stunned crowd of students and teachers.

  “Drake,” Knight said when she had caught up to me. “What the hell was that?”

  “I saw the suspect. I went after him.”

  “How did you—”

  “Not now, Knight,” I said, cutting her off. “We need to figure out what the hell happened to this guy. Get Mackey down here so he can examine the body.”

  As Knight disappeared in search of Mackey, I found myself alone with the lifeless suspect. Crouching down beside the body, I cast a scrutinizing eye over it. Externally, everything seemed intact, but my enhanced senses picked up on an unsettling symphony of gurgles and squelches from within him, suggestive of his innards undergoing some hideous transformation.

  I rifled through his belongings, locating a wallet, which housed his ID. A further search led me to a crumpled pack of cigarettes in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. Prying open the pack revealed a solitary cigarette, and nestled alongside it, a small plastic bag. The kind typically associated with drugs. The bag was empty, but an emblem was printed on its surface—a darkened cloud, rain cascading from it.

  A sense of unease knotted in my stomach as I tried to make sense of it. What was this all about?

  When Mackey arrived, accompanied by a crime scene tech, I handed over the cigarette pack and the small plastic bag, instructing them to get it into evidence and to have it scrutinized for any remnants of potential substances. Something deep in my gut told me that whatever had been in that bag wouldn't be found in any standard drug database. Whatever had endowed these kids with supernatural abilities wasn't something you'd find on the streets.

  If my hunch was correct, and this was some sort of drug, the looming questions were: what exactly was this substance, and who was behind its creation?

  Chapter

  Five

  After the scene was cordoned off and Mackey and the crime techs started doing their thing, I instructed the two uniforms present to start gathering witness statements, making special note of anyone who knew the victims personally.

  After a brief examination, Mackey declared the boy’s body had simply given out and that his insides were probably liquifying like the other body. He also added that there was nothing natural about the circumstances of the two deaths, which we all knew anyway.

  My current working theory was that the two students had taken something they shouldn’t, something that transformed their physiology, temporarily giving them supernatural powers. It was still unclear if the two students knew what they were taking, or if they had willingly taken anything. They could just as easily have been spiked by some nefarious bastard seeking lab rats for some experimental drug. Stranger things had happened.

  Shortly after the second student’s death, Knight got a phone call from someone back in the precinct. “More deaths have been reported,” she said. “All under similar circumstances to the two victims here.”

  “Where?” I asked. “And how many?”

  “Over a dozen at this point, all in various parts of the city. Witnesses reported seeing bizarre and ‘impossible’ feats before the victims in question just collapsed and died.”

  “This is beginning to seem like an epidemic.”

  “You think it’s all drug related?”

  “That’s my current hypothesis. I guess we won’t know for sure until all the bodies are tested and the victims’ circumstances have been investigated.” I paused as I stared down at the now sheeted body of the student I’d gave chase to. “I’ll see if Routman can assign some of the other detectives to the case.”

  “Good luck with that,” Knight said. “You now how snowed under the department is.”

  “Yeah, I know. In that case, we’re gonna be busy for a while.”

  Leaving Mackey to handle the bodies and the uniforms to keep the scenes contained, Knight and I headed to the student dormitories where the two victims were staying. Their names, according to their IDs, were Garth Edge and Danny Sunderland, both in their first year of learning at the university. I was hoping we would find something in the victims’ dorm rooms, something that would tell us how they had ended up dead.

  Venturing off from the main cluster, I directed my steps toward Garth Edge's dormitory. The dorm complex reeked of youthful freedom, a blend of late-night fast food and notes of rebellion. Unsurprisingly, Edge's room echoed this sentiment, cluttered in a way that spoke of a hurried and carefree existence. It was a typical student's sanctuary, littered with unwashed laundry, a well-used gaming console, and stacks of textbooks left untouched.

  The air hung heavy with a faint yet distinct aroma of marijuana, its scent weaving through the room like ghostly tendrils. Ignoring the lingering stench, I started my search methodically, sifting through piles of jumbled clothes and scattered papers. I didn't expect the boy to keep a diary of his illegal activities, but I hoped to stumble upon something, anything that might shed light on his final days.

  In one corner of the room was a heap of clothes, piled up as if attempting to escape the chaos of the room itself. Delving into the pile, I unearthed a black leather jacket that seemed more worn than the rest. It had the weight of frequent use, its material softened with age and care. The pockets were an untapped goldmine, filled with the usual artifacts of student life—gum wrappers, loose change, a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Then my fingers brushed against something harder, a small rectangular stub of paper.

  Pulling it out, I found myself looking at a cloakroom ticket from Netherworld, a nightclub renowned for its dark techno beats and elaborate light shows. Situated in the heart of downtown, the club was a popular spot amongst the city's youth, notorious for its loose rules and even looser interpretations of legality. Meaning, the place was haven for those who liked their party drugs.

  As I stared at the ticket stub, Knight came walking in. “What you got there?” she asked.

  “A ticket stub from Netherworld,” I said. “That club downtown.”

  “I know it. You think the vics liked to go there?”

  “I’m thinking if they took some strange drug, they may have gotten it there. It’s a start, anyway. You find anything in the other boy’s room?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “All right,” I said, turning to walk out of the room. “We can check out the nightclub. Hopefully we can get some video footage of the victims, and maybe even of the person who gave them whatever drug they took.”

  “That might take a while,” Knight said. “In my experience, places like Netherworld aren’t in the habit of helping out cops. That place has been raided numerous times over the years.”

  “Yeah, I know, and it never seems to get shut down either. Know why?”

  “No.”

  "Because it's operated by hellots, that's why. The place functions as a hunting ground, a hotspot teeming with potential victims. Disappearances following visits to the place are a common occurrence."

  “You think the club owners are in on whatever happened to these people?”

  "It wouldn't shock me, but I'd anticipate a higher level of caution from them. My instincts suggest this is the work of a loner. We have to determine whether the other victims also frequented the nightclub. If that's the case, then it's likely the origin point of all this."

  “I’ll get the process started,” Knight said as we left the dorm room. “But as I said, I don’t expect the club to be co-operative.”

  “Don’t bother,” I said, heading down the hallway, passing fearful students. “It’ll take too long. I’ll get Artemis and Pan Demic on it. If there’s video footage, they’ll be able to access it.”

  “Okay. You’re not gonna drag me up that glass elevator again, are you?”

  “No, you don’t have to worry. Your fear of heights can rest easy.”

  “Good. And speaking of heights—you jumped off the fucking roof earlier.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “My heart was in my mouth.”

  “I just did it.”

  “Was that the tattoos? I’ve never seen you move like that. I’ve never seen anyone move like that.”

  “As I said, I’m still exploring what they can do. I’m pretty pleased, so far, though.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you are. You were moving at a crazy speed. That kid had no chance getting away.”

  We walked down the stairs, heading for outside. “That was the whole point of getting them,” I said. “This body isn’t getting any younger. It was the ink or suffer the aging process. I chose the ink.”

  “I feel you,” she said, opening the door for us so we could step outside. “That performance of yours made me want to get my own even more. You sure about paying for them? I don’t like being in debt to anyone.”

  “You won’t be in debt, Knight. Least not to me.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked, frowning.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I just get the feeling sometimes that the power in the ink demands something in return.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ll let you know when I find out.”

  Before leaving the university, I asked Mackey to put a rush on the autopsies of the victims, which he said he would do. Knight and I then went back to the precinct to collate the evidence we had gathered so far. Looking into the other victims, we found out they were all young, no older than twenty. Contacting the victims’ families, we also found out that all of the victims had attended the Netherworld nightclub two nights ago, which cemented the idea in my mind that they had all taken some kind of drug.