When Ephraim regained consciousness, he found himself lying across the back seat of an SUV with his hands cuffed behind his back. His head throbbed from where the rifle hit him, and he felt a trickle of wetness rolling down the side of his face – he guessed it was blood. As he looked up through the window, he could see the fuzzy glow of the moon in between the dark silhouettes of the building tops. The clouds were passing and the rain had eased.

A loud sound reverberated through Ephraim's head. At first, he thought it had been caused by the trauma of the blow. But as he came to awareness, he realised this sound was not in his head, but it was the sound of the city's siren. Ephraim struggled as he hoisted himself up in the seat. The driver looked at him in the rear view mirror. The young man's eyes were tense and nervous.

"What the hell's going on?" Ephraim mumbled, still somewhat dazed. "Why is the siren going off?"

The driver ignored him and diverted his eyes back to the road.

"Hey, I'm talking to you."

There was still no response.

"Hey!" Ephraim yelled this time, leaning forward through the middle of the car. "Turn the car around!"

"Sit back in your seat!" the young soldier snapped nervously. "Don't make me knock you out again."

"We gotta go back for her…"

The soldier glanced at Ephraim in the mirror again. There was tentativeness in his eyes.

"Come on, this is wrong and you know it!"

"I… I'm just following orders…"

"Orders from that crooked piece of shit who calls himself a soldier?! Please," Ephraim pleaded, "I'm asking you do the right thing here!"

"You broke the law; the right thing is to have you arrested and…"

"Would you stop thinking like soldier for just one minute and think like a goddamn human being!" Ephraim cried desperately.

The young man looked increasingly anxious and conflicted as his eyes darted between the road and the mirror. His sweaty hands gripped the wheel tightly.

"You know what that sick piece of shit is going to do, and you're ok with that?! You're just gonna let it happen and walk away like you didn't see anything? This is gonna be on your conscience…"

Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt.

"Alright, shut up!" the young soldier huffed. "Just… just let me think for a minute."

"We don't have a minute!"

"So what are we going to do? Go back there and just tell him to stop? He'll shoot us both!"

"Then radio for help," Ephraim lit up with his idea.

The soldier shook his head. "The siren's going off; the whole city is about to go crazy. You think anyone's gonna respond to a call about some girl in trouble?"

"Just tell them it's urgent. Tell them…"

Suddenly, a great big crash shook the car as it was struck by an incredible force. Upon the impact, the car bounced like a ball and the men bounced inside it. The impact rattled their bones, and they sat stunned for a moment, like that moment of daze right after a car crash. Then after the trauma settled, they looked towards the front of the car and saw that the top of the bonnet had caved in, and on top of it stood a dark figure. The top half of the figure was concealed by the edge of the windscreen; they could only see a pair of black boots and the bottom of a long coat. It had landed on the car from the building beside them, from a height that would have shattered human bones. But, still in shock, the soldier hadn't had a chance to think through such details. He nervously leaned forward and tilted his head to look up through the window. Then suddenly, the dark figure crouched down and glared into the car. The soldier was met with a pair of glowing eyes right before him and he jumped back, pressing hard into the seat.

"Wh… what the hell is that?" he trembled.

The hooded figure pulled back his fist and drove it straight through the windscreen. The glass shattered effortlessly, falling across the dashboard and onto the young soldier's lap. Then he reached in and grabbed the soldier by the collar and yanked him out of the car like an eagle snatching its prey in its talons. Under the moonlight, the soldier could just make out the face beneath the hood, and he screamed in terror. But Quinlan wasn't interested in the soldier. He tossed him like a piece of trash onto the street, and then he hopped down from the bonnet and went straight for the car door. As he opened the door, Ephraim saw him and for the first time looked relieved to see him. Quinlan's eyes quickly darted through the car.

"Where is Mia? Why is she not with you?"

"We gotta get to her!" Ephraim eagerly pushed past Quinlan to get out of the car. "Get these cuffs off me!" he grunted, turning his cuffed hands towards Quinlan and giving them a tug.

Quinlan pulled his sword from its sheath. "I would advise you to hold very still… unless you want to lose a hand."

With a swift cut of his sword, he broke the chain of the cuffs. Immediately, Ephraim ran to the driver's door.

"Get in!"

Ephraim started driving back towards where they encountered the soldiers, speeding maniacally and gripping the wheel with a tense grip. Quinlan could see the dread on his face, and it exacerbated his own dread.

"You're driving away from the military base," Quinlan noted questioningly. "Did they not take her there?"

Ephraim didn't answer immediately. He looked straight ahead.

"No," he finally replied, "he didn't take her back to base."

"He?" Quinlan stared intently at Ephraim, reading his expression.

"One of the soldiers – he's a fucking crook…" Ephraim clenched his jaw and tightened his grip around the wheel. "He took her..."

By the look on Ephraim's face, Quinlan understood what had happened, and he was suddenly overcome by a sickening feeling of dread and revulsion, and it made his stomach churn. The only thing that surmounted this feeling was his rage, and he let the rage drive him and give him strength. He sat quietly in the seat, appearing almost calm, not saying a word. But the look in his eyes showed the storm that was brewing inside of him.

On the street ahead, the parked car came into view, exactly where Ephraim had left it. He drove up beside the car and eagerly jumped out, standing on the street and looking in every direction until he was simply turning around in circles. But the street was empty.

"Where is she…?" he threw his hands up on his head in despair.

As soon as Quinlan stepped out of the car, he picked up a scent in the air – a scent that would normally have aroused him, but this time, it terrified him. It was the smell of blood, ever so strong. But he couldn't identify who it belonged to; after all, he had never smelled her blood. He only knew her by the sweet scent of the soap she used on her skin, the gentle fragrance of her hair, and the musty smell of her apartment that he could also smell on her clothes. But he found none of that here – only the smell of blood. He followed the scent. It led him down the street to a row of abandoned townhouses that were now just bare concrete foundations of the buildings they once were. The smell became particularly strong outside one of these hollow structures. Quinlan rushed inside, stepping over the rubble that lay at its gaping hole that used to be a front door. Inside, the smell engulfed him like a fume, almost too intense for his sensitive nose. He quickly scanned his surroundings as he stood at the entrance, and then his eyes darted to the top of the stairs in front of him. That was where the smell was coming from, he was certain. He sprinted up the stairs as fast as he could. His heart was racing. He tried his best to turn his thoughts away from the fears that plagued him in the back of his mind.

At the top of the stairs was a corridor with rooms on both sides. The place had once been someone's home, and remnants of their life could still be seen. Broken pieces of a child's cradle sat in one of the rooms, as well as a tattered toy on the floor. There was an old toothbrush on the cracked tiles of the bathroom floor, and in another room, a broken picture frame lay fallen from the wall. Quinlan glanced into each room as he passed, each time anticipating he will find something, but then only finding emptiness. However the smell of blood was becoming stronger. Then, Quinlan noticed that at the end of the corridor was a door. Unlike the rest, it was closed. He stopped outside this door. Here, the smell of blood was overpowering, almost excruciating to his senses. Then, amidst the stench, he could smell her. She was here. His heart pounded against his chest. He noted the dead silence around him – there was no movement, no voices, and no cries. As much as it would have ripped his heart apart to hear her cries, he dreaded the silence more. A sudden flash of an image in his head almost made his heart stop – an image of his worst fears. But he knew he couldn't hesitate. He reached out with his hand and pushed against door. It slowly creaked open on its rusty hinges. He closed his eyes for a second before allowing himself to look inside.

Blood.

There was blood everywhere – soaked deep into the floorboards and smeared all over the walls. It looked and smelled like the most sadistic and unsanctioned of slaughterhouses. In the middle of the room, in a pool of blood that continued to seep and spread across the floor, was a body, disfigured beyond recognition. Quinlan stared at it, wide-eyed and stunned, unable to turn away. It was a man, and his bare torso showed hundreds of bloody puncture marks by the blade of knife. He was not just stabbed, but he was stabbed with utter frenzy and animalistic savagery, repeatedly, over and over again. The punctures started from his lower abdomen and went all the way up to his neck and his face. Each mark was deep and forceful, and many parts of his body had been shredded so badly that they were practically turned inside out. His throat had been stabbed so many times that his head was almost separated from his torso, held only in place by the spine and a few shreds of skin and flesh.

Then Quinlan looked to the corner of the room. When he saw her, he let out a breath of relief, and he felt the blood rush back through his body as if it had been frozen before. She sat with her back against the wall and her knees curled up at her chest. She was covered head to toe in blood – her fair skin stained deep red, with crimson splatters on her face, and her hair was wet and matted. She was wearing only her underwear and a t-shirt, both soaked in blood. Her arms formed a cross in front of her chest, and in one hand, she was still clutching the bloodied knife. It was a tactical knife used by soldiers, and it looked so large and unnatural in her petite little hand. Yet it was the hand that had created such carnage. The look on her face was distant, as if she wasn't there. And her eyes were vacant, staring straight ahead. She appeared eerily calm; almost lifeless. Quinlan listened for her heartbeat – it was slow; unusually slow. No sign of distress. There was a dead calmness about her that told Quinlan something was wrong. Suddenly, the relief that he felt when he first saw her started to turn into a sickening feeling.

At that moment, Ephraim caught up and stumbled into the doorway. As he looked inside, his face turned as white as a sheet. He stood in a horrified expression with his mouth agape. The sight in front of him would forever be burned into his mind – the blood-filled room, the grotesque body, and the explicit details of human flesh that no person should ever see. And then there was the sight of Mia sitting in a pool of blood, and the look on her face so inexplicably unnerving; it shook Ephraim to the core. Then the rancid smell of blood and flesh pushed him over the edge. He tried to hold himself together, but his body would not cooperate. He felt the blood drain from his head, his legs started to feel weak, and then his stomach contracted violently. He abruptly turned away from the room and spewed onto the floor. He couldn't look back.

Even Quinlan stared in disbelief at the scene in front of him. It took a moment for him to finally find his voice.

"Mia..." he uttered softly.

She was completely unresponsive. He slowly walked into the room, one step at a time, and carefully approached her. He studied her face, hoping it would tell him something, but he couldn't find her in those dead eyes; he couldn't find the woman that he had come to know, and undeniably come to care about – the woman whose warm heart touched his frosted soul. Now, he saw no sign of that warmth, and it pained him deeply.

"Mia," he whispered as he crouched down in front of her. He looked at her blood-stained hand gripping the knife, and he reached out and touched her hand. She flinched and gripped the knife tighter. Quinlan immediately retracted. But she noticed him now, and her eyes showed some response.

Quinlan tried again. "It's alright," he said as he gently put his hand over hers.

She twitched just a little this time, but then she relaxed to his touch.

"Where am I?" she murmured softly, confused and disorientated.

Quinlan lowered onto his knees in front of her, unconcerned about the blood on the floor.

"You're with me," he reassured as he put his hand on her shoulder, touching her cold skin where her shirt had been ripped, hanging off her shoulder. "Mia, give me the knife," he said softly, as his other hand gently worked on her tight grip. "You don't need that. I'm here now."

She slowly eased her grip and let him take the knife from her. She was starting to shiver now, as if only just noticing the cold. He looked at her delicate body, exposed to the elements, as her clothes lay scattered around the room, drenched in blood. The thought of what might have happened made Quinlan's blood boil; it made him feel the coming of a murderous rage. He knew the rage would consume him later; but not now. Right now, what he was feeling didn't matter. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her. She eagerly huddled into its warm, pulling it tightly around herself.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

Mia nodded, but she didn't move. Her eyes were still distant.

Without thinking, Quinlan lifted his hand from her shoulder and gently brushed the blood-soaked hair off her face, and he took her cheek in his hand. "Then you must stand for me," he whispered, leaning in close to her, almost touching his forehead to hers.

Upon his touch, her eyes lifted and she finally 'looked' at him with a sense of recognition. Quinlan's lips formed a hint of a pained smile as he looked into her eyes and saw the life return to them, as she returned to him. She reached out and clutched his shoulders, and pulled herself towards him. She tucked her legs beneath her and tried to stand. Quinlan let her hold onto him as he helped her to her feet. He noticed how light she was, and how fragile she felt in his hands. The feeling somehow saddened him.

She held herself up with her arms around his shoulders, her legs trembling beneath her as her body felt weak and numb. Quinlan looked at her, and then at the mutilated man on the floor. A million thoughts raced through his mind, but he didn't want to think about any of it right now. What mattered at that moment was that he found her… alive.

He put his arm around her and started to walk her away from this wretched place. This time, he had no care for formalities – he pulled her close to him and held her tightly. "Come on, I'm taking you home."