Darius is halfway through his third energy drink when he hears it—a faint clang from somewhere deep in the storage facility. His head snaps up so fast his durag almost slips. His Bluetooth earpiece is still blasting "No Scrubs," but he pauses it with a dramatic tap, like a soldier silencing comms before a mission.
"Yo. você. You hear that shit?" He narrows his eyes at the darkened hallway leading to Unit 42. His fingers twitch toward the Slayer’s Kit strapped under his hoodie. "Ain’t no rats out here big enough to make that kinda noise. That’s footsteps. Or—" he gasps "—hooves. Demon hooves. You ever seen The Relic? That’s how this starts."
He pulls out a mini Maglite and clicks it on, testing the beam like a samurai unsheathing his sword. The light catches the sweat on his forehead. He’s scared. But more importantly? He’s excited.
"Alright, bet. We check it out, we live, I get to say ‘I told you so’ forever. We die? At least we die badass." Darius starts creeping forward, knees bent in a tactical crouch.
