The wooden door shattered off its hinges with a violent kick as Scott led the charge, revolver drawn, his team fanning out behind him like a wave of vengeance. Their boots thundered across the creaking floorboards as they swept room by room—clearing closets, kicking down bathroom doors, shouting commands into silence.
"Clear!" Ray barked from one end.
"Nothing here!" Stephanie called out.
Frank jogged up, scanning with a flashlight. "Place is empty. No sign of him."
"Could it be we got the wrong place?" Stephanie asked, brows furrowed in confusion.
Scott's eyes narrowed as he paced slowly. "No… This is it. I can feel it."
He turned his attention to the walls, tapping and knocking, listening. Then, a distant creak—Stephanie's footsteps, twenty feet away. Scott froze. Something was off. He knelt, ear to the dusty floorboards. Knock-knock. A subtle echo. Hollow.
His eyes sharpened. "It's here!"
He bolted upright and slammed the nearby light switch—only instead of flipping the bulb, it triggered a mechanism. With a low mechanical groan, a section of the floor split and slid open, revealing a staircase descending into darkness.
Guns raised, flashlights on, they descended into the abyss.
The basement was like something out of a nightmare. Chains clinked faintly. Blood glistened on the concrete floor. The stench of damp air, sweat, and suffering hit them like a wall.
"Jesus Christ…" Ray muttered under his breath.
Against the far wall, Helena and the children were shackled—faces bruised, bodies trembling in terror. A chair sat dead center. Strapped to it was Dr. Gibbs, head slumped forward, a jagged stab wound in his neck, blood still dripping.
The victims screamed when the lights hit them—panicked, believing Damien had returned. Stephanie ran to them, flashing her badge, whispering urgently, "It's okay! You're safe now. We're here."
Frank's voice trembled with rage. "That sick son of a bitch…"
Scott knelt beside Gibbs, checked for a pulse, and let out a slow breath. "He's gone."
Before they could absorb it, Helena pointed behind them—toward a narrow, half-open tunnel.
Scott cursed and bolted, flashlight bouncing wildly as he charged into the tunnel alone. The passage snaked underground for nearly a block before opening into a bustling street.
By the time Scott emerged, chest heaving—Damien Quinn was already gone.
"Damn it!" he growled, clenching his fists as sirens echoed behind him.
The forensic team stormed the house minutes later, snapping photos, bagging evidence, and muttering about the horrors they found.
"So damn sick," one of them muttered, scraping blood from the concrete.
Outside, victims were loaded into ambulances—bruised, broken, but alive. News vans had already swarmed the perimeter, reporters foaming at the mouth to spin their stories. Some headlines praised the SVU for the daring rescue. Others crucified them for letting the monster slip through their fingers again.
SPECIAL VIOLENT CRIME UNIT – TEMPORARY HQ, MANHATTAN
Frank slammed his fist on the desk so hard his keyboard bounced. "We were right there! We had him!"
Stephanie looked pale and exhausted. "I just hope the victims can heal after what they've been through."
Scott stood at the window, calm but distant. "Frank, how's the Victim Protection Program coming along?"
Frank didn't look up. "Already in motion. Armed detail's watching over them round the clock while they're treated at a hidden location."
Ray scoffed. "Better that way. God knows what that freak would do if he found them again."
Stephanie turned to Scott, worry etched into her face. "Do you really think he'll go after them again?"
Scott turned slowly, eyes cold and hard. "Absolutely. To him, this isn't reality—it's some twisted video game where he's trying to reset the world. The game isn't over until all the characters are dead."
Stephanie's breath caught. "That means he'll keep doing this…"
"As long as he's walking free," Scott said darkly, "he'll never stop."
Frank gritted his teeth. "I've been scanning every damn feed in the district. He avoided every single camera on his escape route. Like he mapped out the entire city."
"No doubt he did," Ray muttered. "Knows this place like the back of his hand."
"Even dashcam footage's no good," Frank said. "Too few cars drive through that stretch."
Scott nodded once. "Then we'll do it the hard way. Block by block. We will find him."
He walked off without another word, making his way to the Chief's office where the top brass waited.
"You're here," the Chief said, nodding approvingly. "Good work saving those victims. The department's got its reputation back—for now."
Scott stood at attention. "Thank you, sir. But it's not over. We still haven't caught the bastard."
"I know," the Chief said with a sigh. "The commissioner's been chewing me out since sunrise. You've got to bring him in—fast."
Scott's voice was steady. "We will."
The Chief leaned forward. "And you need reinforcements. This unit's running thin."
"I'll consider additional members once I find the right people," Scott replied.
"'Worthy members,' huh?" the Chief smirked. "You always were picky."
Scott gave a slight nod and left. Back at the team's section, he found them poring over footage, scanning satellite maps, digging for any trace of Damien Quinn.
The hunt was far from over.