Chapter 2: The Scavenger's Warning

Chapter 2: The Scavenger's Warning

The soft click echoed in the office like a gunshot. For a heartbeat, there was only a profound, ringing silence. Leo’s body was locked in place, a statue of pure terror, his eyes fixed on the now-unlatched brass knob. His mind, which valued logic above all else, was short-circuiting. The patient, silent turning of the handle wasn’t the act of a common burglar. It was a violation of natural law, a quiet declaration of power.

He expected the door to swing open. He braced himself for a face to appear in the opening, for the nightmare to take a physical form.

Instead, the door exploded inward with a deafening BOOM.

The sound was primal, a force of nature crammed into the narrow hallway. The wooden door frame splintered, and the heavy door itself shuddered violently on its hinges, bowing inward as if struck by a battering ram. Leo was thrown from his stupor by a surge of adrenaline so potent it tasted like copper in his mouth. He scrambled backward, tripping over his own chair and landing hard on the floor.

BOOM! Another impact, stronger this time. A hairline crack appeared in the drywall next to the frame. This wasn't lock-picking; this was brute, obsessive force. The sheer violence was a stark contrast to the unnerving delicacy of the turning knob. It was as if a predator had finished toying with its prey and had now decided to simply tear the cage apart.

Panic gave way to a sliver of instinct. Barricade. He lurched to his feet, adrenaline singing in his veins, and seized the one heavy object in the room: his metal desk. With a strength he didn't know he possessed, he heaved it sideways, its legs screaming in protest against the linoleum floor. He slammed it against the door just as a third, bone-jarring blow landed, sending a shockwave through the metal into his hands.

BOOM! The door buckled, the cheap wood of its center panel splintering. BOOM! The desk slid back an inch. Leo threw his entire body weight against it, his shoulder digging into the cold metal, his cheek pressed against the surface. He could hear it now, between the impacts—a low, guttural sound, like stones grinding together, a noise that wasn't rage, but something colder. Something like satisfaction.

He was going to die here. In this glass box, in this forgotten ironworks, killed by something that had turned his sanctuary into a tomb.

He gritted his teeth, expecting the final, door-shattering blow. He waited.

And waited.

The assault ceased as abruptly as it had begun. The silence that rushed back in was heavier, more suffocating than before. Leo remained pressed against the desk, his muscles screaming, his ears ringing. He held his breath, listening. There was no sound of footsteps retreating, no frustrated curse, no noise at all. It was as if the force on the other side had simply vanished.

The waiting was worse than the attack. Was it listening? Was it planning another way in? He imagined a gaunt face peering through the glass walls, eyes scanning for him. He didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe. Minutes stretched into an eternity. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, the only sound in his universe.

His hand, trembling uncontrollably, fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He shielded its screen with his body, terrified the light would draw attention, and with clumsy fingers, dialed 911.

"911, what is your emergency?" The operator’s voice was a lifeline from a world that made sense.

"Someone's in the building," Leo whispered, his voice a ragged, broken thing. "Med-Supply Logistics, on the old industrial route. They tried to break into my office."

The flashing lights of the patrol car were the most beautiful thing Leo had ever seen. They sliced through the oppressive darkness of the warehouse, painting the sterile aisles in strokes of electric blue and frantic red. The sound of tires on gravel was followed by the authoritative slam of car doors.

A few minutes later, a heavy knock sounded on his office door. Not the brutal impact from before, but a firm, human rap. "Sir? This is the police! Can you open the door?"

Leo’s relief was a physical wave that almost buckled his knees. He shoved the desk away, the screech of its legs a sound of liberation, and fumbled with the knob. Standing in the hallway were two officers, their expressions a mixture of caution and professional calm. The older one, a stocky man in his late forties with a thick mustache and tired, seen-it-all eyes, stepped forward.

"I'm Officer Miller," he said, his voice a low, reassuring rumble. "You alright, son? You're the one who called?"

Leo could only nod, leaning against the splintered door frame for support.

Miller shone his flashlight on the damaged door, his eyebrows rising slightly. "Looks like he really wanted in. You see who it was?"

"No," Leo stammered, his mind struggling to form the words. "I just... I heard something. The doorknob... it turned, really slowly. And then..." He gestured weakly at the shattered frame.

Miller's gaze was paternalistic, the kind a man gives a frightened child. "Okay, take it easy. A lot of these guys are strung out, unpredictable. My partner and I are going to do a sweep of the building. You stay put."

As they moved off into the darkness, their flashlight beams cutting disciplined paths through the aisles, Leo felt the tension begin to ebb. It was just a break-in. A violent, terrifying break-in, but something mundane. Something with a rational explanation. The turning knob? He was tired, scared. He must have imagined the details.

It wasn’t long before he heard a shout from the far end of the warehouse, followed by the sound of a scuffle. A few minutes later, Officer Miller returned, steering a thin, ragged man in front of him. The man was cuffed, his clothes filthy and torn, his face a mask of gaunt desperation.

"Found our guy hiding behind some pallets in Section C," Miller said with a note of finality. "Looks like a scavenger. Probably thought the place was empty."

Leo stared at the captured man. He was scrawny, trembling, his eyes wide with a fear that seemed far too large for his wiry frame. Could this man have produced such incredible force? It seemed impossible. But then, Miller had mentioned drugs.

As the second officer took charge of the suspect, leading him toward the main entrance, the man’s eyes locked onto Leo. His frantic gaze swept over Leo, then to the office, then back again. A fresh wave of terror washed over his face. He stopped struggling against the officer and began to pull back, his heels dragging on the concrete.

"No, no, wait," the scavenger croaked, his voice raw with panic. He wasn't looking at the cops; he was staring at Leo, his expression one of horrified pity. "You don't get it. You can't stay here."

Miller sighed, an expression of weary annoyance on his face. "Let's go, buddy. You can tell us all about it downtown."

"I wasn't trying to get him!" the man shrieked, twisting in the officer’s grip. He pointed a trembling, cuffed hand at Leo's office. "I was running! From him!"

Leo felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air.

"Who?" Miller asked, his patience clearly wearing thin.

The scavenger’s eyes were wild, darting into the shadows of the warehouse as if he expected something to emerge at any moment. "The watchman," he whispered, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "He doesn't let anyone leave. He plays games. He watches! He's still in there with you! He's watching you right now!"

The man’s final, terrified shout echoed through the vast, silent space. The younger officer shoved him forward, forcing him out into the night. Officer Miller turned back to Leo, shaking his head.

"Pay him no mind," he said, clapping a hand on Leo's shoulder. "The things these junkies see. Listen, we've got him. The place is secure. My advice? Lock up, go home, and get some sleep. You've had a rough night."

Leo watched the patrol car's lights pull away, leaving him once again at the mercy of the warehouse. The flashing colors receded, and the profound, watchful silence flooded back in. The police had come, they had caught a man, and the rational world had declared the problem solved.

But as Leo stood in the doorway of his violated sanctuary, the scavenger's terrified words played over and over in his head. The immediate danger was gone, but it had been replaced by a seed of a much deeper, more insidious fear. The splintered door wasn't the work of a desperate junkie. It was the work of a predator. And the junkie was just the last person to escape the cage.

He was alone again. But this time, he knew the silence was not empty. It was listening. It was waiting. And somewhere in the endless shadows between the shelves, it was watching.