Doors to a new world

Detective McCarthy threw a cigarette out of the car's window. He had gone through a whole package in the last two hours. Yet he couldn't calm his nerves.

His partner, Rochelle, had disappeared almost a week ago and then reappeared after two days without saying anything. After that, she seemed different, detached.

He saw her going over old gang files and the such. Then today, one of the gang hideouts she had been studying was attacked and wiped out.

McCarthy didn't care about those animals that had died. He was worried about his partner and unable to get a straight answer he decided to wait in front of her house.

It was another hour before he finally saw her walking home. She was visibly nervous and kept glancing at her apartment and behind her. Almost as if afraid of being followed.

Rochelle entered the building, and McCarthy decided to finish his cigarette before going up. He was nervous about what to say. While it might be true he was worried for his colleague, he didn't just hold professional feelings for her.

He finished his cigarette and prepared to open the door to his car. However, he saw Rochelle coming out again, and then in puzzlement as he saw her wave her hand. A moment later, three pitch-black vans pulled up from nowhere and quickly unloaded four swat teams and a team of snipers.

Their uniforms didn't have police markings like certain black-ops agents. The swat followed Rochelle up the stairs while the snipers went into the opposite building. The vans drove away, and the street returned to its previous peaceful state.

"What's going on?" He thought nervously, "Is Rochelle in danger? Should I still go up?" He examined the clues he had in hand, and his guts spat out a theory. "Is she setting up a trap? But for whom?"

He decided to wait it out. An old lady entered the building, then a teenager, and just when McCarthy was considering taking out his phone and sending Rochelle a text, he saw a suspicious man walk into the building.

The man wore a long red coat over a white sweatshirt and blue pants, and on his head, he wore a grey trilby. An experienced detective would immediately notice the invisible price tags of those clothes and that someone that could afford the outfit wouldn't live in such a run-down apartment building.

McCarthy's hand tickled the fancy of taking out his gun and arresting the man, but without reasonable cause, he would have no leg to stand on. Additionally, he felt danger coming from the man, and he decided not to take the risk.

Soon after the man entered the building, McCarthy heard the snipers opening fire on Rochelle's apartment. Almost in sync, five more black vans pulled up and unloaded an army of swat. McCarthy immediately left his car and approached the building but was stopped by one of the swat members.

"Move aside. I'm with the San Francisco PD, and my partner is in that building!" McCarthy tried intimidating the man with his badge, but he wouldn't budge.

"Sorry, Sir. You are not allowed it; refer to your direct superior if you have any complaints or questions. Thank you for your cooperation." The swat member, a woman Mccarthy could recognize from the voice, stopped him from moving further.

He looked up and saw green fog escaping from the bullet holes in Rochelle's windows.

"What the hell are you doing up there?" He asked, worried, then before he could receive an answer. *BOOM* Flames shot everywhere from Rochelle's apartment. Some bricks and flaming materials flew down.

"Fuck this. I'm going in!" He yelled, pushing the agent aside. He wished to save Rochelle. However, the swat woman wasn't there just for show, and with a judo move, she threw him to the ground and handcuffed him.

"Please, do not resist. You will be released as soon as the situation is resolved." She said in an icy tone. Suddenly her walkie-talkie came to life.

"Bzz. The target has moved to the fifth floor. Echo team is wiped. We have confirmed it is vulnerable to fire. Snipers switch to incendiary." The radio crackled, followed by a string of "Roger."

"Target hit, It appears still alive, but we have him pinned down."

"Delta Team moving in for retrieval." "haha! We bagged another one."

McCarthy listened to the exchange from the floor. He could hear explosions and gunshots but not see anything. He kept worrying for Rochelle so much he didn't even relax when he heard the target was down.

A dozen seconds passed in silence, then the world shook. A massive explosion annihilated the building in front of him.

The building flew like a toy thrown by an angry god in the sky. Then it started falling in chunks. Clumps of bricks and furniture crashed on the street and surrounding buildings like meteorites. Thick ash settled amongst the pained screams of the survivors.

McCarthy couldn't feel the agent on top of him had disappeared, and he got up. He couldn't see anything, and the ash from the building pasted uncomfortably in his mouth.

As the ash settled down, he could see a scene out of 9/11 documentaries. The monotonous grey covered the world, except where it melted with fresh blood. A brick had struck the agent that arrested him, and her head had turned to an unnatural angle.

In this chaos, he looked at Rochelle's apartment, only the first floor still existed in some capacity. "ROCHELLE!" He screamed as tears fell from his eyes, leaving dark trails on the ash covering his face.

The next few hours flashed by quickly. Firefighters and ambulances came to the scene and began rescue operations. McCarthy was taken by two men dressed like federal agents and brought into an abandoned building on the city's outskirts.

He was led to an office of sorts and left alone and handcuffed to a table. He didn't put up any resistance. Why should he? He felt like the world had collapsed on top of him.

All the feeling left unexpressed he had for Rochelle sat uncomfortably in his chest, weighing his heart down. And even revenge was out of the question. The perpetrator had definitely perished in the explosion.

McCarthy sat there, feeling dead inside until a smartly dressed woman came into the room. "Good evening, detective McCarthy." She sat opposite him and placed a computer on the table.

"I'm sure you have many questions, but please wait until the end. My name is Verdant Croft, and I'm a Bureau for Paranormal Affairs agent." McCarthy looked in confusion at the supposed agent of an agency he had never heard of.

"Yes, the supernatural world does exist, and it is dangerous. That's why, in 1886, a group of influential individuals and politicians from all over the world established our organization to protect our society from mystical influences. We also maintain order between the various occult factions and species." She spoke clearly and calmly, her monotonous tone drawing McCarthy's attention.

She then opened her laptop and showed a video. McCarthy immediately recognized the man in the video as the suspicious individual he had seen earlier today. "Earlier today, we were alerted by your partner, Miss Rochelle De La Fleur, about the existence of this individual, Robert Sandford, and his involvement in the massacre of a gang-related building."

The video showed pictures and clips of the scene of the massacre. The gore festival before his eyes was almost too much even for an experienced detective like him, and he felt like puking.

"After she informed us, we managed to track him and associate over a dozen people who died today only." The video showed people dying after clutching their chests or vomiting blood. The only commonality between all the videos was that he could always see Robert wearing a cruel smirk in the background.

"Oh my god, what is he?" He asked, terrified by a new world opening in front of him.

"With the help of your colleague, we have linked his name and face to a British suicide victim and, after the events of today, concluded he is a demon. I know this must be shocking to hear," she said, staring right into his eyes. "But we have reason to believe he managed to survive our trap and escape, and after our losses, we need new agents to hunt him down."

She paused to let McCarthy correctly understand the weight of her words. "On behalf of the BPA, I want to invite you to join us as a field agent."