60 The warehouse

**Date = 25 June**
*Still the same day.*
**Place = San Francisco (Warehouse)**
*A haunting location.*

**POV - Enrique**

***WARNING – Graphic content !!!!!***

“This is it,” Axel confirms. For a minute, no one moves as if taking it all in.
The warehouse looms like a grave waiting for a name.
“Holy fuck, are you sure?” Alejandro asks, rather shocked. I must admit, I was not expecting this either. But then again … I’m not sure what I expected … a building site, a dump yard, a fishing boat, a sunny, well-guarded mansion?
Jackson runs the Jeep straight through the locked gate and up to the crummy building.
The warehouse appears to have been abandoned by the world — its windows are boarded, ivy is climbing up its sides like veins, and half the roof is sagging inward. An old storage facility, maybe. Now, just a trap with a cruel invitation.
I step out of the SUV and instantly feel it in my gut — wrongness.
Jinx hops out and immediately begins to sniff. The dog growls low in his throat, body rigid, tail raised.
“Easy, boy,” Alejandro whispers, clipping his leash. “Go slow. Search.”
The Doberman puppy darts forward, nose to the ground.
Jackson bolts out and rushes to the huge eroded doors.
A sudden burst of energy surges through my veins as I stumble to follow behind my twin. A tightness constricts around my heart. What will we find inside?
I feel sick, from my head to my stomach. My intestines churn.
“Stop!” Alejandro shouts, grabbing my brother’s arm to hold him back. He shakes loose.
“Let go!” His eyes flare with deranged insanity that will make Lucifer piss his pants. But Alejandro grabs his arm again.
“Fuck, Jackson,” he scolds bravely, “don’t be stupid. It could be a trap. You’re no use to Lee dead.” Jackson’s eyes flicker, but he stands down.
“We have to be smart and put our emotions aside. Anger won’t rescue them, it will just get everyone killed, bro.” Alejandro is right. Calmness is key. Too bad I’m about just the opposite of calm right now.
Jackson’s expression changes, and a sudden bliss seems to fill him. I envy his control. I’m still an awful jittery mess.
I take a deep breath. One … two … three … four … five, exhale. We need to lead with our minds, not our emotions.
However, I’m not as adept at control as my twin. But I force it. For Aria. For Leyla.
“Get the gear from the boot,” D-Boy orders. He takes charge, and we let him. Even Jackson.
“I’ll go first,” Alejandro says. “Follow my steps.” Jinx whiffs at the door, then sits and barks loudly. D-Boy pats him on his head. “Good boy.” He gets a treat from the pouch around Alejandro’s hips.
“We’ll need to find another way in. The door must be trapped.” I pat the little dog on his head. He might have just saved our lives.
“Maybe a window,” Axel suggests, and we slowly walk around the building.
“I think I should call the Captain,” I huff. “Or 911.”
“Call David,” Jackson heaves, “Tell him to NOT bring his rats.”
I make the call, telling him about the rats and the traps … and he assures me he’s on his way … alone.
We find a broken window on the right side, and Jackson cautiously beams a flashlight up and down the frame, peeping inside. Jinx doesn’t give any indication of something foul, and Alejandro takes the initiative and jumps through first. Jackson picks up the pup and hands him over. Then we all follow suit.
Inside, the air is heavy with rot and mold. Jackson holds a machete. Axel has the crowbar. My hands are shaking as I cling to the flashlight while I follow them through the gloom.
Jinx stops and barks at a crate.
“Guys … there are drugs in there,” Alejandro explains the dog’s behavior. Axel pries it open. It’s empty.
Jackson slides his finger through some white powder on the bottom.
“There WERE drugs in there,” he says. I look around. The place is filled with wooden crates — hundreds of them, piled high on top of one another — filling more than half the warehouse. It must have been a hell of a lot of drugs.
The pup gets another treat. On-the-job training. Improving his skills. Search and rescue. Drug detection. Explosives. Cadavers. The works. The little boy is only ten months old and already better than any K-9 I’ve ever seen.
“Jinx,” Alejandro murmurs, and the dog lifts his head attentively. Alejandro holds a piece of clothing to his nose. Lee’s. “Find.”
He takes off like a black shadow, leash loose but controlled, ears perked, and nose twitching.
Alejandro moves out first, with sharp purpose, no hesitation in his steps. He trusts his dog.
We move together, a four-man unit, silent and watchful. Going deeper. Inside, the shadows are darker.
We follow the dog and trainer in silence. Jackson in front, and me behind Axel at the back.
Jinx whines and lies down. Alejandro glares back, anxious, pale, biting his lip as if trying to find the right words.
“What?” Jackson growls.
“There’s a dead body in here,” he says softly, giving Jinx another treat. My heart drops to my shoes. Shoes that are stuck to some gooey substance on the floor. I’m not eager to make any educated guesses as to what it might be.
“Don’t lose hope, guys,” Alejandro tries to stay positive. “Let’s keep going.”
We keep in line while slowly making our way between the rows of crates. A shape darts right between Axel’s legs.

“Shit!” he swears and jolts. The thing scatters across my foot. I hop and skip awkwardly in an attempt to dodge the huge rodent, smashing into one of the containers, knocking loose the lid. The vermin disappears with a squeal under a pile of corroded metal. That thing was as big as a fucking cat!
“What happened?” Alejandro asks frantically from the front.
“Rat,” I reply, observing all the flustered faces. Clearly, everyone is on edge and not feeling very cheery because, under different circumstances, we would all be laughing right now.
It’s only then that I notice something shady inside the dislodged box.
“Guys, wait!” The crate is marked with huge red letters — ML — dusty, and sealed with brittle tape that cracks like dry skin as I ajar it further. The stench isn’t fresh — there is no blood, no rot — but something old and sour hangs in the air, like ancient dust laced with forgotten death.
“Holy fuck,” Axel heaves.
Inside, the creature is twisted unnaturally, bones cracked and rearranged to make it fit. A human — or what is left of him — curled into himself like a broken doll. His limbs have been snapped backwards, folded tight against his torso, elbows pushed under the ribcage. The skull is caved in on one side, the jaw partially unhinged, revealing teeth clenched around his own tongue.
He has clearly been dead for years — lots of years — his skin stretched tight over bone like old parchment, dark brown and leathery.

The eyes have been removed, or maybe they’ve just collapsed — sunken holes where curiosity once lived. A clump of what remained of his blonde hair clings to the crown of his head, stiff and clotted with dust.
One leg is bound with twine, as if someone has tried to keep him together after dismemberment has already begun.
A child’s toy car is clutched in one hand, the fingers curled into fists, nails still intact, each digit like a dried claw. The body is smeared with something — blood, maybe, or old motor oil. Or both. A plastic evidence bag lies next to it, with an old, outdated Apple phone inside.
“Is this the body Jinx meant?” I ask hopefully. If this is the cadaver, it means we might find Aria alive.
“No,” Alejandro shatters that hope. “This is too old. Jinx is still only on fresh ones.”
Jackson grits his teeth. I blow out a deep breath. Axel and Alejandro share a look.
Alejandro gives Jinx some more orders, and they slowly walk on.
I notice that the crate underneath the one we opened is also marked with red letters — DL. I wonder if it contains the same gruesome content. And what the letters stand for. Do they label their corpses for future reference? To simplify their system? To help the office lady with her filing?
That’s when it hits me … these people, they are crazy, deadly, powerful. And I am scared. Scared for everyone in my little group. My people. My family. I can’t lose any of them.
I rush to catch up with the crew. Jinx stops dead in his tracks and paws the air. He doesn’t bark. Everyone stops so abruptly that I collide with Axel’s back.
“What now?” my brother scolds as I taut my head to see what’s the holdup.
Alejandro points towards a thin, almost invisible wire, stretched ankle height across the floor, right at the bottom of the steps.
“Fucking assholes,” Jackson snears, “They want us to bleed.”
“Guys, mind your step and stay vigilant,” Alejandro says. I’m glad we have him and Jinx. My mind is such a mess, I would have just raced in, tripping every trap and probably ended up dead. Jackson is also not himself today.
“Noted,” Axel replies.
D-boy pulls a Swiss army knife from his pocket and stoops down. He softly sweeps his fingers across the wire, following it from side to side, checking to see what it is attached to.
He whistles softly. Axel and Jackson peer over his shoulder. “Damn,” Jackson peeves.
“What?” I’m curious what’s happening since the others are blocking my view.
“It’s a shotgun. Could have taken your leg off.” Axel is not joking. Alejandro cuts the wire and disarms the gun.
Jackson is right. They want us to bleed … suffer … but not die.
“Guys, be careful,” he warns as we slowly continue our journey up the narrow iron stairs. The steps and their banister are so worn-out and rusty that I’m not sure they’re going to hold our weight.
Jinx is the first to step onto the loft that hovers over a corner of the ground floor. That’s where the smell hits. Metallic. Sweet. Wrong.
Jinx wines, freezes, and lies down. The same routine as earlier. I know before Alejandro even says it.
“Cadaver alert,” he whispers grimly, rewarding the pup. “Body is getting closer.”
“No,” I mutter. But the smell doesn’t lie.
“Find,” Alejandro orders with a distinct crack in his voice.
The wooden floor looks like the rest of the building ― extremely unsafe. It’s badly rotten, but patched up. Just enough to make it sort of safe for walking.
“Try to step on the thicker beams,” Alejandro instructs. I slowly take one step at a time, breathing laboriously — stress constricting my lungs with each breath. What if we find them in a bloody puddle? Like my mom. Naked, pale, raped, dead. I gag at my own thoughts.
“Are you alright?” Axel asks, grabbing my arm. No. Not at all.
I nod.
The dust is thick in the air, making it barely possible for us to see, even with my flashlight. Beams of sunlight trickle in through the tiny, dirty, broken windows below the PVC roof, partially piercing the darkness.
Except for a small office in the far back corner and a couple of old couches in the other, this floor is mostly empty.
Everything seems to be covered in a layer of grime. A strange feeling of anticipation chokes me as I look around, not seeing any trace of Aria or Lee.
However, Jinx is still following his nose. Leading us to a body. I swallow the lump in my throat and feel as if I’m going to barf. Maybe it’s just a dead rat. Oh, God, let it be a rat. Or another mummified person I don’t know.
The pup sniffs and then sneezes. He shakes his head. The place sure is dusty … and gloomy … and dirty. And falling apart. The perfect front for a body dump spot.
Jackson stoops down and probes his finger into a dark substance on the ground, examining it. He turns pale and heaves. My heart stops again. I immediately know. It’s blood.
Everybody circles the small pool of dense black-red liquid drained into the dirt.
Please let it not be their blood. Please, please, please.
A blood trail leaves a distinct route to the small room as if something bloody was dragged through the dirt. It’s like deja vu ― almost the same pattern as the one from years ago, in our hallway.
Alejandro pursues it. I, on the other hand, hesitate for a second, fear fusing me to the spot.
But then my worry for Aria overwrites the horror of what I might find, and I make my way to the back, all the hairs on my arms rising as I get closer and closer.
Jinx scratches on the door.
The broken blue door is slightly ajar, a deathly stillness coming from inside. It’s not a good sign.
“Why is there an Enervoltz logo on the door?” Jackson asks softly. I didn’t even notice. It’s very faint, probably disintegrated by age, but it’s there. Is it a coincidence? A message? Or a clue?
I look around at the voiceless figures silhouetted next to me in the gloomy darkness. No one seems to care very much about that right now. Everyone is clearly tense. I’m tenser. Jackson is the most tense ― judging by the way his hands are clenched in unyieldingly stiff fists next to his body.
D-boy slowly checks the door for wires or traps before he opens it. It creaks queerly as if uncannily mocking us. I close my eyes and count to ten. Jinx rushes in and disappears into the dark.
Blinking a few times to adjust my sight to the sharpness coming from a single fluorescent light flickering overhead, I scan the area. Water drips from a broken pipe, like a haunted heartbeat.
The first thing I notice is a wooden bin, out of place in the middle of the room. Blood soaked through the side panels to form a black puddle on the floor.
I stop breathing and grab onto the arm next to me. It’s Jackson’s. He’s completely unaware of my action … staring bug-eyed at the box. Is it Aria? Or Lee?
“Fuck,” Axel swears soundlessly while slowly stepping forward. “Should I open it?” he asks softly, gripping the crowbar in both hands at his chest.
“Yeah,” Alejandro rumbles in a low voice, unsure, hesitant. Axel takes a deep breath and pries open the crate.
He peeps inside, gags and swallows harshly, wiping his hand over his mouth. I bite my lips, still holding my breath. It’s bad. I can tell.
A second ticks away.
“It’s not them,” he says, and I exhale in relief.
Jackson moves laggardly, pulling me with him, since I’m still stuck to his arm like a high-school crush. We stare in horror at the mangled mess that was once a girl.
Fucking shit! It’s Amanda!
Carved, brutalized, disfigured, left like garbage.
A message. Seeing it in person is even worse than the video.
“She’s been here an hour,” Alejandro gasps. “Longer.” They sure like boxing their dead ones up in tiny crates. This one is also marked — AD+. Amanda Dee. Not sure what the plus is for.
Empty sockets with dead eyes stare upward, dark and sunken, and her head is tilted at an odd angle — an expression of fear carved on her face. Her mouth is torn, as if stretched past its limits. And I know from the video exactly what was forced in there.
Her limbs are bent backward, contorted unnaturally to force them into the box.
She’s naked. A bloody, fleshy mess where her nipples should be. Her womanly parts maimed. Also captured in brutal clarity in the footage.
And her belly gapes open in a crude, yawning slice — emptied, hollow, the life once inside has been torn out, leaving nothing behind but blood, silence, and the echo of what should have been.
I take one step back, bile rising in my throat.
Axel turns his face away.
Even Alejandro pales.
And Jackson… he just stares.
Silent.
Seething.
“They cut it out,” he gags and picks up a jar with shaking hands.
It is small — no longer than a hand, fingers to wrist — and it lies curled in the center of the jar like something both human and alien. The fetus floats in a cloudy amber liquid, limbs folded close to its torso, knees tucked, head bowed. Its skin is translucent, pale as wax, with blue veins just beneath the surface like threads under ice. Tiny fingers, impossibly formed, press gently against its own cheek. The face has shape — a nose, eyes, lips, the size of pencil lines — but it is still undefined, like a sculpture waiting to be finished.
Its skull looks too large for its body, giving it a fragile, almost top-heavy appearance. The eyelids are fused shut, and the ears are only small ridges, but unmistakably human. The ribs show beneath the skin, and the butt-line and female genitalia are already visible.
A label is taped to the jar, smeared with fingerprints, blood, and fluid. **Enrique’s baby girl**. With a huge plus sign — clarifying that question at least.
It’s not mine. I know that.
But there is still something intimate and terrifying about it — not a clump of cells, not a fully formed baby, but caught forever in between. Arrested potential, frozen in time.
Fuck. This is my fault.
I realize that her death is my doing. This innocent baby died because of me. If I told the press the truth, they wouldn’t have killed her. Or her mom. Wouldn’t have gutted her womb.
But then they would have killed Aria instead. Am I morally okay with sacrificing Amanda for Aria?
Okay or not … it’s too late now.
But where is Aria? Lee?
Is he gonna torture Aria like this? Rape her? Kill her? The blood drains from my head, and I fall to my knees on the floor.
“Your choice …” Axel mumbles, “You didn’t … so they chose your … baby.” Mistakenly, it’s not my baby.
“If they already killed Amanda … why take Aria?” Alejandro asks.
“Because she was there,” Jackson snorts. “Wrong place, wrong time.” That’s what the voice said.
The words drill into my head, but they could just as well be Korean. I’m not able to comprehend one single word.
Jinx barks from deeper in the room.
A muffled groan comes from his location, and I turn my head slightly, trying to find the source. There, sprawled out on a mattress, is a figure. I’ll recognize those contours anywhere ― it’s Aria.
I yelp her name in a tiny voice and scrabble on my knees to her side, picking up her head and crunching it against my chest, right there where my heart suddenly started beating again.
“Aria, baby,” I mumble, biting my inner cheek not to cry. Her body is limp and cold. Jackson hurries to the mattress, then starts searching through the room like a crazed lunatic.
“Where’s Lee?!” he yells into the air. He’s lost it. Completely.
His jaw ticks. He throws a punch at a nearby support beam, cracking it like it insulted him.
Charging out of the room, he demolishes everything in his path. The sound of glass breaking crashes through the air. He’s the worst I’ve ever seen him. And I know, if he gets like this, he usually destroys himself … and those who try to stop him.
And then he balls up and obliterates the ones to blame. I’m not sure these people truly comprehend exactly just how dangerous my twin can be, but they sure are going to find out soon.
“Search!” Alejandro shouts at his pup. What he’s searching for, I don’t know. Jackson? Lee? They disappear into the dark.
“We need to get out of here,” Axel shouts, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“Come on, let’s go!”
“Aria, can you hear me?” I plead hopefully. She opens her eyes, smiles lightly, and wipes her fingers over the week-old stubble on my jaw. Then the light leaves her eyes, and her head falls onto my chest. I pick her up, her flaccid body a dead weight in my arms. Are we too late?
I briskly walk out of the building, making sure to watch my steps, Axel right on my heels. We find Alejandro standing outside next to the SUV with Captain David.
Jackson is sitting on the ground, his back against the tire of the vehicle. He looks devastated. His face is the color of toilet paper.
I open the back door of the vehicle. Jackson doesn’t move. I notice a dirty cloth bound around his hand, blood dripping from his fingers to get soaked up into the dirt. He’s gonna need stitches.
Axel comes over and checks on Aria. I bite my thumb while he searches for a pulse. He looks at me sternly as he tilts his head, his hand giving my shoulder a pacifying squeeze.
“She’s gonna be okay,” he mumbles and helps me put her into the SUV.
“You take Aria to Black Pit,” Jackson gets up. “Deimos can check her over.”
“What about you?” Axel wants to know.
“I’m gonna stay here … see what we’ve missed. I’ll send for a car.” His voice drops into something cold.
“They took Lee out the back door, and then the trail goes cold,” Alejandro says. “Probably drove away.”
“I swear to God … if they hurt Lee … I’ll burn this city until I find them. Every alley. Every rat hole. Every piece of scum that is involved.”
“I don’t care if it takes my soul … I’m going to make them beg to go to hell.” Jackson stares into the distance.
“They want a devil?” he mutters. “They got one.”
He disappears into the building, leaving only the echo of his boots behind. And the knowledge that Jackson Blackburn is about to burn the world to get Lee back.
“You go,” Alejandro says to us. “I have his back.”
Jinx lets out a low howl, as if echoing the sentiment.