The tunnel stretched ahead like a vein beneath the city, its damp walls glistening with a faint blue glow that pulsed in time with the ember in Elias Varn's chest. Water sloshed around his ankles, cold and murky, soaking through his tattered jumpsuit as he stumbled after Rory Tate. His cracked glasses fogged with every ragged breath, the broken lens blurring the concrete into a fractured haze, and his hands trembled, slick with sweat and grime as he pressed them against the moss-streaked stone for balance. The air was thick with the reek of stagnant rot and a sharp, electric tang, a storm brewing in the dark that set his nerves on edge.
Rory forged ahead, his skateboard tucked under one arm, his red hair a faint beacon in the tunnel's gloom. His patched hoodie dripped with river water, and his steps splashed unevenly, a wince flickering across his freckled face with every move—his ribs still bruised from the warehouse chaos. "Keep moving," he called, voice hoarse but steady, echoing off the walls. "That kid creeped me out, but I'd take glowy ghosts over SWAT any day."
Elias's throat tightened, the child's words—"The Shroud is the beginning"—looping in his mind, each repetition a weight on his soul. The ember flared, a jolt that made his eyes glow faintly, casting a shimmer on Rory's back. "It's not a ghost," he rasped, wiping his glasses uselessly on his sleeve. "It's—it's real. The Shroud—it's doing this to me." The voice stirred, cold and resonant: "You are its voice now." He flinched, clutching his chest, and the blue glow pulsed brighter, as if answering.
Rory glanced back, his green eyes narrowing. "Voice again? Man, that thing needs to chill—give you a break." He slowed, splashing through a deeper puddle, and squinted at the tunnel ahead. "This glow's getting stronger—feels like we're walking into something. You sure this is the way out?"
"No," Elias admitted, his voice trembling as he caught up. "But it's—it's pulling me. I can feel it." The ember burned hotter, a rhythm syncing with the glow, and the tunnel walls seemed to hum, a low vibration that rattled his teeth. He pressed a hand to his head, the cracked lens blurring the child's translucent face into his memory. "The Shroud—it's beneath, they keep saying. Beneath what?"
Rory shrugged, kicking a loose stone that skittered into the dark. "Beats me. Under the city? The river? Hell, maybe the whole damn world. All I know is we're not sticking around for the cops to figure it out." He adjusted his skateboard, then froze, head tilting as a new sound cut through—a faint rush, like water moving fast, growing louder from the tunnel's depths.
Elias heard it too, his pulse spiking as the ember flared, his eyes glowing brighter. "That's not the river," he whispered, backing up a step. The glow intensified, a wave of blue washing over the walls, and the rush became a roar—a torrent surging toward them, not water but energy, crackling with static and light. It hit like a gust, knocking Rory's skateboard from his grip and slamming Elias against the wall, the cold stone jarring his spine.
"Elias!" Rory shouted, lunging to grab him as the energy swirled, tendrils of blue coiling around them like living things. His hands glowed, the vibration humming faintly, but it faltered, overwhelmed by the torrent. The tunnel shook, cracks spiderwebbing across the ceiling, and a voice—not Elias's inner whisper, but a chorus—rumbled from the light: "The Beacon burns."
Elias's glasses flew off, clattering into the water, and he cried out, the ember erupting in a pulse that met the torrent head-on. The collision sparked a flare, blinding and sharp, and the tunnel lit up—revealing etchings burned into the walls, dozens of shadowy figures with glowing eyes, their outlines pulsing blue. The energy surged through him, cold and electric, and his eyes blazed, a light that pierced the haze as visions flooded his mind—darkness, a vast shadow beneath the earth, tendrils reaching, waking, calling.
He sank to his knees, the water soaking his jumpsuit, and the torrent faded, leaving the tunnel dim but humming. Rory grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. "Hey—hey, you with me?! What was that?!" His voice cracked, his hands trembling as he retrieved Elias's glasses, shoving them back onto his face.
Elias blinked, the cracked lens blurring the etchings into smears, but the vision lingered—a shadow, alive, ancient, watching. "The Shroud," he gasped, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I saw it—under everything. It's—it's waking things up because of me." The ember settled, a dull ache, and the voice whispered: "You cannot silence it."
Rory's jaw tightened, his freckles stark against his paling skin. "Okay, that's freaky as hell. So it's, what—a big bad down there using you as its alarm clock?" He hauled Elias up, water dripping from both of them. "We need out—now—before it sends more glowy weirdos."
But the tunnel answered before Elias could—a low groan, metal bending, and a section of the wall buckled, splitting open to reveal a figure clad in black tactical gear, not SWAT but sleeker, a faceless helmet glinting with a red visor. They held no rifle, just a device that hummed with a sharp, piercing tone, and behind them, the blue glow dimmed, as if recoiling. "Target acquired," they said, voice distorted, mechanical, and raised the device—a pulse of white light shot out, slamming Elias back into the water.
Pain seared through him, the ember flaring wild, and he screamed, his eyes glowing as a pulse ripped outward, weaker but desperate. The figure staggered, the device sparking, but two more emerged from the breach, their visors glinting as they advanced. Rory swung his skateboard, the vibration humming in his hands, and cracked it against the first figure's helmet, denting it with a crunch. "Back off!" he yelled, but a second figure grabbed his arm, twisting it until he dropped the board with a cry.
"Rory!" Elias scrambled up, the ember surging, and another pulse broke free, rattling the tunnel. The figures flinched, their devices flickering, but the lead one recovered, raising theirs again. "Subject unstable—suppress now," they said, and the white light hit Elias harder, a cold burn that locked his limbs, dropping him face-first into the water.
His vision blurred, the cracked lens fogging as the ember fought, a heat that wouldn't fade. The voice roared, louder than ever: "They cannot hold you." His eyes flared, a pulse surging through the water, and the tunnel shook, the etchings blazing blue as the figures' devices shorted out, sparking wildly. Rory broke free, tackling the nearest one, his vibration pulsing as he slammed them against the wall.
"Get up, Elias!" Rory shouted, his voice raw as he wrestled the figure down. Elias dragged himself upright, water streaming from his jumpsuit, and the ember pulsed, his eyes glowing as he staggered toward Rory. The figures regrouped, their visors dark now, but a new sound cut through—a sharp whine, mechanical, and a drone swooped from the breach, its red light locking onto Elias.
"Containment breach—escalate," one figure said, and the drone fired—a dart, not a bullet, piercing Elias's shoulder. Cold spread from the impact, numbing the ember, and he sank to his knees, the glow in his eyes dimming. "No—no—" he slurred, reaching for Rory as the kid lunged, vibration flaring, but a second dart hit him, dropping him mid-step.
The tunnel spun, the blue glow fading as the figures closed in, their boots splashing through the water. "Target secured," the lead one said, and Elias's vision darkened, the voice a faint whisper: "The Shroud endures." His glasses slipped into the water, and the world went black.
Above, Dr. Thalia Voss watched from her van, her tablet streaming the capture—Elias's pulse, the figures' efficiency. "Sedative deployed—subject contained," a voice reported through her earpiece. She tapped a note, her silver-streaked hair glinting in the screen's glow: Shroud influence confirmed—suppression viable. Next phase: Extraction. Her smile was a blade as she leaned back, the river's hum a quiet backdrop to her triumph. "Sleep well, Elias," she murmured. "We're just beginning."