The hospital door slid open with a soft whoosh. As Daniel walks out first, with his right hand shoved into the pocket of his worn out jacket, while his left held the little hands of the small Lina walking side by side with him dressed in a set of clothes the nurses had scrambled together for her.
He didn't look at her, just kept moving, his voice low and gruff:
"you wanna come with me?".
he said knowing she had no where else to go, no family to lean for support so he offered a hand of a broken man to a broken girl a place beside him. As he was waiting for a response Lina had fallen to her knees clutching the fabric of the clothes she was given.
The weight of everything-her burned arms, the screaming memories, the smell of blood that wouldn't leave her nose-finally crashed down.
Tears didn't even come. Just shaking breaths. Just the sound of a soul cracking.
After a long minute, she managed to croak out, "Y-Yes...I don't want to be alone..."
Daniel stared at her for a moment longer before giving a small nod, barely visible.
Where the fuck am I even gonna go?
As the thought came to Daniel since he is assumed to be dead both his friends and family all think he is six feet under.
I'm a fucking ghost walking around with a half-possessed kid. Great start.
Before he could spiral deeper into bitter thoughts, a shimmer appeared next to him.
Two figures emerged- one a woman with golden blonde hair tied into a sharp bun and a stern face: Astrael, his angel handler. The other, a tall, lean man with short black hair sharp green emerald eyes, wore a lazy grin: Malik, his demon counterpart.
Astrael wearing a suit that said I'm in charge, while Malik was dressed in casual outfit looking like some who rather sleep than go to work. As they both approached Daniel and Lina, Malik was the first to speak with a smirk.
"So your still alive, get in we got to give you for your first job well done." Malik said. " Time to see your new digs."
They both escorted Daniel and Lina into an unmarked black SUV and began the drive. City lights blurred by. Billboards and neon signs flashed against the glass. It wasn't long before they crossed over into Manhattan, weaving through side streets until they stopped at what looked like- nothing.
An empty, weedy plot of land sat between two crumbling brick building. Rusted fencing leaned at precarious angles. Trash bags fluttered in the wind.
Daniel stared.
"You serious?" he deadpanned. "What am I, a fucking homeless ghost detective now? What's next, a cardboard desk?"
He kicked a soda can into the dirt, muttering curses under his breath.
Astrael turned slightly, addressing his wide-eyed stare.
"Only those with supernatural heritage or the Sight can see or enter this place."
Malik smirked, patting one of the stone pillars.
"House runs on a heavenly and demonic system. No one gets in unless you want them to—not angels, not demons, not even pissed-off old gods."
As Daniel walked closer, he noticed a weathered wooden sign swaying above the entrance gates.
Specter Protocol.
He pointed at it with a grimace. "That my new name or something?"
Astrael and Malik answered in unison: "Yes."
Daniel shrugged. "Could've been worse."
The heavy iron doors creaked open at a touch, revealing a grand entrance hall.
The first thing Daniel noticed was the strange, beautiful fusion of old gothic and sleek modern styles.
Vaulted ceilings rose impossibly high, hung with black iron chandeliers lit by pale, flickering flames.
Deep red carpets stretched over polished obsidian floors.
The Grand Library sat immediately to the left.
Dark oak shelves climbed four stories high, packed with books bound in leather, bone, and materials he couldn't even name. Rolling ladders lined the walls, allowing access to the highest shelves.
The Living Room lay beyond that.
A massive stone hearth burned with green and blue flames. Heavy velvet couches and carved armchairs surrounded it. A massive television screen, somehow elegantly blended into the stone, sat above the fireplace—connected to every mortal and supernatural information network.
The Kitchen was a culinary dream and a witch's lab smashed together.
Copper pots hung from hooks. There were massive wood-burning ovens next to sleek steel ones. Ancient spell ingredients sat next to canned beans.
A thick grimoire lay open on the counter, listing recipes that cooked themselves—with magic... or by screaming, depending on the meal.
The Training Area was downstairs.
An underground arena made of black stone, marked with ancient wards and protective runes.
Racks of weapons—both modern and ancient—lined the walls.
Spell circles were engraved into the floor for summoning, binding, or battle simulations.
Daniel turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in.
"...Holy shit. I'm living in Batman's haunted house."
Malik laughed, slapping his back.
"Welcome home, boss."
Lina clung silently to his coat sleeve, her burned arms hidden under new sleeves, wide eyes soaking in every corner.
For the first time in a long time, Daniel Cross—Detective of the Dead, Specter of Two Worlds—felt the spark of something like hope in his cracked chest.
He squeezed Lina's hand gently.
"Come on, kid. Let's figure out how to survive this fucking mess together."
The gates of Specter Protocol closed behind them with a deep, final boom.
Their story had only just begun.