Arlen was staring at the poster, disbelief clouding his eyes.
"You should quit drinking, Detective Arl," said Shane, noticing the tremor in his hands.
"It's already two o'clock. We have to move deeper into Spyra before dawn," he added, checking his pocket watch. "Everyone's asleep now. If we linger, we'll attract attention."
Arlen said nothing. His tired eyes met Shane's for a second before he nodded and walked clumsily toward the car.
Seeing his condition, Shane asked, "Should we go by ca—"
Rrrnn... Hrrr... Zzz... zzzz…
Both men froze and turned toward the sound. In the backseat, the eyewitness was snoring loudly.
Shane reached through the open window and shook him.
The man blinked awake, smiling sleepily at them.
"Do you want to sleep a little longer?" Shane asked softly.
"N-nno…" the man mumbled.
"Need a blanket or pillow?" Shane asked again.
"N…no," he replied drowsily.
"Then WAKE THE HELL UP!" Shane barked.
His voice echoed through the empty streets.
The man jolted awake in shock and screamed,
"DON'T KILL MEEE!"
His wide eyes bulged in fear. Panting heavily, he stumbled out of the car.
"I-I'm sorry, sirs. I haven't slept properly for three days."
Shane folded his arms. "What's your name?"
"S-sir, my name is Douglas."
Douglas was a short, thin man with a bald head and unnaturally long arms that hung past his knees. His eyes were large and his lips dark, with a thick mustache perched above them. He gave them a shy smile, trying to mask his nerves.
"We don't know anything about this place, Douglas," said Shane. "You said you knew the killer — that's the only reason you're here."
"I don't know him personally," Douglas replied quickly. "But… my friend from here does."
"Oh? You've got a friend here?" Shane raised an eyebrow.
"Why did you stutter? You sure he's your friend?"
"Y-yes, sir. He's my friend. He runs a bar here."
Shane scoffed. "A bar? There must be dozens in a place like this. How do you plan to find the right one?"
"It's not hard, sir. It used to be a church. There's only one church here, so it'll be easy."
"What?" said both Shane and Arlen at once.
"Yes, sir. It's a church turned into a bar," Douglas said seriously.
Arlen exhaled and glanced at the black sky. "It's getting late. Let's move."
"We should take the car," said Shane. "Your condition isn't good, Detective Arl."
Douglas nodded eagerly. "Yes, I agree with him."
Shane glared at him.
Douglas looked away quickly. "W-walking is fine by me," he said in a cracked voice.
"Shall we go, Detective Arl?" asked Shane.
"I'm good," Arlen replied, his tone weary but steady.
They all got into the car. Shane started the engine.
Pffsssshhhhh…
The car didn't move. The tires sagged, deflating completely.
All three stepped out. Shane crouched beside the front tire, scraping something with his pen.
"What the—" he muttered, holding up a black, tar-like substance. "This isn't oil… it's melted rubber. The tires were eaten by this stuff."
The sharp, burnt smell filled the air.
Arlen's calm began to slip again. His eyes darkened.
Douglas forced a nervous smile. "So… shall we walk now?"
Without another word, they started walking, leaving the car behind.
Arlen slowed down. Something didn't feel right.
He heard something. A whisper.
At first faint… then clearer.
"Arlen…"
He froze. The voice came from behind. The car.
He turned slightly, trying not to look back — but then he heard it.
"Daaad…! Daaad!"
His heart skipped. He spun around.
The car was there — but it was filled with a thick, black fluid, rising fast. Inside, his daughter was screaming, pounding against the glass.
"Annie!"
The sludge swallowed her up. A pale hand clamped over her mouth and pulled her into the darkness.
The car began to melt, hissing, her screams echoing louder and louder.
Arlen's eyes widened in horror. He fell to his knees, clutching his face.
"Oh, Annie… my poor baby… I'm so sorry…"
"Detective Arl, are you alright?" Shane's voice cut through the haze.
Arlen turned to him, dazed. "My… Annie…" He looked back — the car was normal again.
"Who's Annie?" Shane asked quietly.
"Nothing," Arlen said, wiping his tears, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
They walked again. The silence grew heavier.
The deeper they went, the stronger the stench became.
Spyra reeked of rotten flesh.
The paths were cracked and uneven, the sidewalks choked with filth.
Drain water ran through the streets like veins of disease.
The buildings leaned, covered in web and moss, like corpses refusing to fall.
It was silent — too silent. The air itself seemed to be watching.
After a while, Douglas spoke up. "I think… we should go this way."
"Shut your mouth," Shane snapped. "We've been wandering for half an hour listening to your 'directions.'"
"Sir, I'm not the one who built this place!" Douglas protested. "I've never been here before either!"
"If you say another word, I'll knock your teeth out," Shane growled, his face red with anger.
Arlen barely heard them. His mind was spinning. His daughter's voice echoed in his skull, faint but sharp.
He gritted his teeth, gripping his head. His breathing turned ragged. His chest tightened.
Then, a voice whispered — deep and ancient — right into his ear.
"RUN."
His body froze. His pupils dilated. His muscles tensed.
His heart pounded like a drum inside his ribs.
And then he ran.
"Detective!" Shane shouted, chasing after him. Douglas followed, stumbling.
The voice thundered again — neither male nor female.
"LEFT."
Arlen turned left.
"RIGHT."
He obeyed, blindly sprinting through the darkness. Blood dripped from his ears.
"STRAIGHT."
His vision blurred. His heart threatened to burst.
And then — he saw it. Lights.
The voice faded. His legs stopped.
Before him stood a flickering neon sign:
ARL'S BAR
Shane and Douglas caught up, panting. Arlen was shaking, drenched in sweat.
All three looked up. Above the bar was a giant holy cross — cracked clean in half.
"Arl's… bar?" Shane read aloud, confused.
"No, sir," said Douglas, smiling widely. "It's Charlos' Bar. That's my friend's place."