The city's neon heartbeat pulsed beneath the blood-red moon, its crimson glow casting an eerie sheen over the rain-slick streets. Ace guided Mai through the alleyway, her friend's weight a steady pressure against her shoulder. The air still hummed with the aftermath of the warehouse battle—faint traces of sulfur and ash clung to her senses, a reminder of the entity she'd carved into oblivion. Her katanas rested heavy against her back, their seals quiet now, though she could still feel their subtle thrum, as if they, too, sensed the night wasn't finished with her.

Mai's breathing was shallow but steadying, each exhale a faint mist in the cold. "You're bleeding," she rasped, her voice rough from exhaustion, her silver hair glinting faintly under the flickering streetlights.

Ace glanced down at her arm, where ichor and her own blood mingled in a dark smear across her sleeve. "It's mostly theirs," she said, her smirk flickering like a candle in the wind. "Besides, I've had worse."

Mai managed a weak laugh, then winced, clutching her side. "You're impossible."

"Someone's gotta be," Ace replied, her eyes scanning the shadows ahead. The girl with the violet eyes and white hair lingered in her mind—a fleeting enigma who'd vanished into the night, leaving behind more questions than answers. Summoned the entity? Freed by its death? Ace's instincts prickled, a hunter's intuition that told her the threads of this mystery were far from unraveled.

They reached a junction where the alley spilled into a broader street, lined with shuttered storefronts and buzzing signs advertising wares long abandoned to the night. Ace paused, easing Mai against a wall to catch her breath. The city's restless energy thrummed around them—distant horns, the clatter of a late-night train, the murmur of voices too far to discern. She was about to suggest finding a safe spot to patch Mai up when a new sound cut through the din: a sharp, deliberate click of boots on pavement.

Ace's hand snapped to one of her katanas, her body tensing as she turned toward the source. A figure emerged from the shadows of a side street, moving with a casual stride that belied the weight of his presence. He was tall, lean, with a mop of unruly brown hair peeking from beneath a battered fedora. His trench coat—worn and stained with what might've been coffee or something less mundane—flapped slightly in the breeze. A glinting pendant hung around his neck, an ornate piece with a ruby centerpiece that pulsed faintly, catching the blood moon's light in a way that made Ace's skin crawl.

He stopped a few paces away, hands in his pockets, and tilted his head to regard her with sharp, mischievous eyes. "Well, well," he said, his voice carrying a lilt of amusement. "You must be Ace. The shadow-slicing, demon-dicing legend herself. Gotta say, the stories don't do you justice."

Ace narrowed her eyes, her grip on the katana tightening. "And you are?"

"Name's Jack Bright," he said, flashing a grin that was equal parts charm and chaos. "Doctor Jack Bright, if we're being formal, though I'm not much for titles. Let's just say I'm someone who keeps an eye on the things that go bump in the night—and the people who bump back."

Mai shifted behind her, peering at the stranger with wary curiosity. "You're not local," she murmured, her voice still weak. "What do you want?"

Bright's grin widened, but his gaze stayed locked on Ace. "Oh, I'm not local to anywhere, really. I get around. As for what I want—well, I've been watching your little rooftop performance tonight, Ace. That warehouse dust-up? Impressive. Messy, sure, but effective. You've got a knack for handling the unhandleable."

Ace's smirk returned, though it was edged with suspicion. "Flattery's nice, but it doesn't explain why you're here. You're not a cop, and you don't smell like a bounty hunter. So what's your game, Bright?"

He chuckled, a sound that danced on the edge of unhinged. "No game, just an offer. I represent an outfit called the SCP Foundation. Ever heard of it?"

Ace's brow furrowed. The name tugged at the fringes of her memory—whispers she'd caught in underworld dives, rumors of a shadowy group that collected the strange and dangerous like trophies. "Maybe," she said cautiously. "Depends on what you're selling."

"Not selling," Bright corrected, raising a finger. "Recruiting. See, we're in the business of securing, containing, and protecting the world from things that don't play by its rules. Demons, anomalies, eldritch whatsits—you name it, we lock it up. And you, Ace, you've got a skill set that's caught our eye."

Mai stiffened, her hand tightening on Ace's arm. "She's not some hired gun for your spooky club," she said, her tone sharp despite her condition.

Bright waved a dismissive hand. "Relax, silver-hair. I'm not here to drag her off in chains. This is freelance work—short-term, no strings. You keep your freedom, Ace, and we get a problem solved. Win-win."

Ace studied him, her dark eyes unreadable. The pendant at his throat pulsed again, a faint rhythm that synced oddly with her own heartbeat. There was something off about him—something more than human, yet not quite like the demons she'd faced. "What's the catch?" she asked, her voice low.

"There's always a catch," Bright admitted, his grin turning sly. "But first, the pitch. We've got a situation—a nasty little anomaly tearing up a quiet corner of the world. Think claws, teeth, and a bad attitude, but with a twist: it's tied to something bigger, something we haven't pinned down yet. Sound familiar?"

Ace's thoughts flashed to the warehouse, to the entity and the girl who'd slipped away. "Maybe," she said again, her tone guarded. "What's in it for me?"

"Besides the thrill of the hunt?" Bright shrugged. "Cash, intel, maybe a favor or two down the line. We've got resources—tech, knowledge, stuff you won't find in your average black market. Plus, I hear you're looking for someone—or something. We might be able to point you in the right direction."

Mai shot Ace a warning glance, but Ace's curiosity was piqued. She straightened, her smirk sharpening. "Alright, Bright. I'll bite. What's this anomaly, and why me?"

Bright's eyes gleamed with a mix of excitement and mischief. "Glad you asked. Let's take a walk—somewhere less... exposed. You'll want to hear this sitting down."

They ended up in a dive bar a few blocks away, a crumbling relic of the city's underbelly where the neon flickered and the air smelled of stale beer and desperation. Ace had patched Mai up with a medkit scavenged from the wreckage of her car, and now her friend sat in a corner booth, nursing a glass of water and watching Bright with a mix of distrust and exhaustion. Ace leaned against the table, arms crossed, her katanas within easy reach as Bright sprawled across from her, his trench coat pooling around him like a shadow.

The bar was quiet, save for the low hum of a jukebox spitting out a scratchy tune and the occasional clink of glasses from the handful of patrons too drunk or too broken to care about the trio in the back. The blood moon hung outside, its light filtering through cracked windows in a crimson haze that painted the room in shades of violence.

Bright pulled a battered tablet from his coat, its screen scratched but glowing with a faint blue light. He tapped it, pulling up a grainy image—a hulking figure caught mid-motion, its form blurred but unmistakably monstrous. Claws glinted, eyes glowed, and a trail of destruction stretched behind it: overturned cars, shattered buildings, a street torn apart like paper.

"Meet SCP-," Bright said, his tone casual, though his eyes flicked to Ace with keen interest. "We're still working on a designation—paperwork's a bitch—but this thing's been rampaging through a small town a few hundred miles from here. Big, mean, and not too fond of staying dead. Sound like your kind of party?"

Ace studied the image, her mind already mapping out the fight—angles, weak points, the rhythm of its movements. "Looks like a demon," she said. "Bigger than the ones I cut down tonight, but same vibe. What's the twist?"

Bright's grin widened, and he swiped the screen to reveal a second image: a series of symbols carved into a wall, glowing faintly with the same sickly green light as the chains that had bound Mai. "That's the fun part. It's not just a mindless beast—it's tethered to something. A ritual, a summoning, maybe a pissed-off godling. We don't know yet, but it's leaving these behind wherever it goes. And here's the kicker: it's fast, slippery, and shrugs off anything short of a nuke. Our usual teams can't pin it down."

Ace's gaze sharpened, her thoughts circling back to the warehouse, to the girl's pendant and the entity's collapse. "You think it's connected to what I fought tonight."

"I think it's a hell of a coincidence if it's not," Bright said, leaning back. "And I don't believe in coincidences. That's why I'm here. You've got a nose for this stuff—plus, you're not afraid to get your hands dirty. We need someone who can track it, kill it, and figure out what's pulling its strings before it levels half the state."

Mai coughed, drawing their attention. "And what happens after?" she asked, her voice stronger now but still laced with suspicion. "You lock Ace up in one of your cages too?"

Bright laughed, a sharp, barking sound that made the bartender glance their way. "Nah, we're not that kind of outfit—well, not usually. Ace does the job, she walks away. No containment, no creepy experiments. Scout's honor." He held up three fingers in a mock salute, though the pendant at his throat pulsed again, a reminder of his own strangeness.

Ace tapped a finger against her arm, weighing the offer. The thrill of the hunt called to her, a siren song she could never resist, and the promise of answers—about the girl, the entity, maybe even Mai's attackers—was tempting. But Bright's easy charm didn't mask the danger lurking beneath, and she wasn't naive enough to trust him outright.

"What's the real catch?" she pressed, her voice low and steady. "You're not telling me everything."

Bright's grin faltered, just for a moment, before he leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Fair enough. The catch is, this thing's not just a brute—it's smart. Calculating. It's been dodging our traps, picking off our scouts. And if it's tied to what you fought, it might know you're coming. You'll be walking into a fight where the enemy's got the home-field advantage—and maybe a grudge."

Ace's smirk returned, slow and dangerous. "Good. I like a challenge."

Bright clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet bar. "That's the spirit! So, you in?"

She glanced at Mai, who gave a reluctant nod—trusting Ace's judgment, if not Bright's. "I'm in," Ace said finally, her eyes locking with his. "But I work my way. No babysitters, no leashes. And if you've got intel on that girl—the one with the violet eyes—I want it."

Bright's expression shifted, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face before he masked it with another grin. "Violet eyes, huh? Interesting. I'll see what I can dig up. Deal."

He slid the tablet across the table, its screen now displaying a map with a blinking red dot—a small town nestled in a valley, far from the city's neon glow. "That's your target. We'll arrange transport, gear, whatever you need. Just don't take too long—this thing's not big on patience."

Ace took the tablet, her fingers brushing its scratched surface as she memorized the location. "I move fast," she said, standing. "Let's hope your Foundation can keep up."

Bright rose too, tipping his fedora with a flourish. "Oh, we'll manage. Welcome to the freelance life, Ace. Try not to break too much—we're on a budget."

The next night, under the same blood-red moon, Ace stood at the edge of the city, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and Mai patched up and resting in a safehouse she'd secured. Bright had delivered on the transport—a sleek black van that materialized in an alley with no driver, its engine purring like a predator waiting to pounce. Inside, she found gear tailored to her style: reinforced sheaths for her katanas, a set of throwing knives, and a comm device that crackled with Bright's voice as she climbed in.

"Comfy?" he asked, his tone teasing. "Don't say I never did anything nice for you."

"Shut up and tell me what I'm walking into," she shot back, settling into the passenger seat as the van rolled forward on its own.

"Straight to business—my kind of gal," Bright said, his voice tinny through the comms. "Town's called Harrow's End. Population's down to a few dozen after our friend showed up. Last report said it tore through a church—left those symbols you saw, plus a lot of bodies. No witnesses, just screams on the wind. Sound fun yet?"

Ace's smirk deepened as she gazed out the window, the city's lights fading into the dark expanse of the highway. "Sounds like a party."

"Thought you'd say that," Bright replied. "Oh, and one more thing—watch your back. If that girl's tied to this, she might not be as gone as you think."

The line went silent, leaving Ace alone with the hum of the engine and the weight of her swords. The blood moon loomed ahead, a silent witness to the hunt unfolding beneath it. She flexed her fingers, feeling the familiar pull of adrenaline, the call of the shadows she was born to chase. Freelance work for the SCP Foundation wasn't her usual gig, but something told her this was only the beginning—a thread in a tapestry of chaos she was destined to unravel, one blade at a time.

The van sped into the night, carrying her toward Harrow's End, toward the unknown, and toward a fight that would test even her limits. And somewhere, in the dark, she swore she felt those violet eyes watching.