Varia

“Fuck, I’m starving. should I just go grab a quick bite?” Kain muttered. A month ago, he’d been just another guy living in a predictable world. But before he could follow that thought, his ears twitched, fine-tuned and far more powerful than the average Joe could ever hope to possess. That’s when he heard it—a quiet plea for help, far off in the distance, a scream that silently echoed through the streets, piercing the night air. Instinct kicked in, and before he even had time to think, he was back on the bike, gunning it toward the sound. He was no hero, not by any conventional definition, but there was a thrill in the chase, a pull he couldn’t resist.

Kain thought about how he had made Belmont’s Cave (as he liked to call it) into his own H.Q., a place where he could tap into different databases, tracking strange reports and unexplained incidents. When he first got there, the first thing he’d done was call his parents, crafting a story about a fishing boat job that would keep him off-grid for a while. It was a flimsy excuse, but it bought him time and kept them from worrying.

The rest of his time, he’d spent combing through cases, looking for anything that might tie back to the events at the library—odd occurrences, violent incidents, missing persons. Thanks to Doc’s guidance, he’d developed an eye for patterns, the kind of disturbances that hinted at the supernatural. Belmont had been a constant voice in his ear, training him to spot the tells—the way certain energies shifted, the patterns that regular cops would overlook, the scent of fear and corruption that clung to the air around these disturbances. And now, heading back into Bakersfield, those skills were tingling, whispering to him that something was very, very wrong.

Now, as he cruised through the outskirts of Bakersfield, those instincts were on high alert. He was here because of a trail he’d picked up last week, following a hunch and a faint trace of something off. A memory surfaced, and an amused smirk tugged at his lips. It had been a few nights back when he’d stumbled upon a half-baked robbery attempt in a back alley. A twitchy thug had tried his luck, targeting a guy who, in Kain’s opinion, had all the signs of a “Karen.”

After a quick takedown, Kain had watched, mildly disbelieving, as the man huffed off, looking back over his shoulder with a glare, clutching his briefcase like he might lob it at Kain for daring to intervene. The guy had practically spat insults and complaints. “This is Bakersfield, not Gotham, ya freak!” he’d hissed, glaring at Kain before storming off, clutching his designer briefcase like it held his dignity. The man hadn’t even muttered a thank you, just left with a grunt and a distinct air of indignation, as if the whole thing had been Kain’s fault.

Once the suited man had disappeared, Kain had turned his attention back to the would-be robber, now slumped against the alley wall. The guy was breathing heavily, nursing a bruised arm and watching the “Karen” march away with a mix of frustration and resignation.

Kain had been left standing there, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Can you believe that? Instead of gratitude, he curses you,” the thug muttered, almost exasperated. “Don’t worry, buddy, I think you did good tonight!” the thug encouraged, his tone oddly friendly for someone who’d just been stopped from trying to make a quick score. “But not even a single ‘thanks, man.’ I just don’t get it—I might be a criminal, done some bad shit, but even we criminals gotta eat, right? Some people, though, no manners at all. Straight-up assholes.” He paused, letting out a disbelieving chuckle. “Can you believe he actually started complaining about how I was robbing him all wrong? Said he couldn’t feel the desperation, the violence from me. Like he was giving me pointers. And hell, not that it’s a good thing, but I just got out for beating a guy to near death over a damn sandwich.” He shook his head, a kind of sad amusement flickering across his face, as he let out a resigned sigh, eyes drifting to the empty space where the man had stormed off. “You know, it’s like they live in their own little bubble. Don’t care what anyone else might be thinking or going through. They walk around like they’re the only ones that matter. Probably never had a real problem in his life, either.”

The thug shook his head, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. “It’s people like that—doesn’t even consider that I’m here doing this ‘cause I got no choice. To him, I’m just an inconvenience. They never stop to think someone else might have it rough. It’s like they’re so wrapped up in their own illusion, they can’t even see past themselves. And I’m the bad guy, right? Just for trying to get by.” He sighed again, glancing at Kain with a wry smile. “Some people just don’t know when to keep their mouths shut,” Kain added, shrugging as if he’d just been made a pawn in a comedy of errors. “I swear, I almost gave his wallet back, just out of spite… names Robert by the way, but people like to call me Rob by the way.” Rob laughed with a stupid grin plastered on his face

Kain had chuckled at the absurdity of it all, the guy’s nonchalance almost refreshing in its honesty. Still, he hadn’t forgotten that this “friendly” thug had been about to make a quick buck off someone else’s misfortune. And, truth be told, the thug’s philosophical musings on life in Bakersfield left an impression. “Honestly, I should’ve just let Rob rob his ass,” Kain laughed, half-joking, half-serious. As he left, he’d picked up on something else—a dark energy that hadn’t come from the thug but from the area itself, something residual that left a bitter tang on the back of his tongue.

Now, as he weaved through the evening rush, that same feeling prickled at his senses, a whisper that told him he was on the right path. Belmont’s voice echoed in his mind, steady and intense, urging him to follow the trail and stay alert. Doc’s sarcasm chimed in, amused, as if he could already smell the tension in the air. This was a lead that felt too familiar, too close to ignore—a faint, acrid taste that lingered, a residual sense of something darker. He hadn’t been able to shake it, and now, as he wove through the evening traffic, his senses were on high alert, drawn by that same dark hum.

Belmont’s voice was a steady anchor in his mind, a calm, firm reminder to stay sharp, to follow the energy but not let it cloud his focus. Doc’s wry amusement seeped through, sensing the tension that buzzed under Kain’s skin. Bakersfield had always had its share of oddities, but this was different. This was a lead, one familiar enough to set his pulse racing. He could almost taste it in the air—the hunt was on.

As he cruised through the outskirts of Bakersfield, his bike rumbled beneath him, a steady growl that blended with the muted sounds of the city easing into the night. The familiar streets rolled past in a blur of streetlights and faded storefronts, the moon rising high above the hills, casting long shadows that clung to the edges of buildings like something alive.

Kain had chuckled at the absurdity of it all. But something in the air caught his attention—a faint, acrid taste lingered at the back of his throat, almost metallic. It was subtle, but unmistakable, like a whiff of something rotten just beneath the surface. There was something darker here, an undercurrent that he couldn’t quite shake, even as he left the alley.

He navigated through the night traffic, letting his enhanced senses guide him. He could feel a strange energy in the air, an almost physical hum that settled beneath his skin and whispered of something off-kilter.

Belmont’s voice echoed in his mind, calm and steady, the tone of a mentor grounding him as he let the bike glide through the backstreets. “Stay sharp, kid. There’s more to this than just bad luck. That energy? It’s got teeth, and it’s hunting just as much as you are. Keep your focus.”

Doc’s voice chimed in with his usual sardonic edge, a slight amusement coloring his words. “Bakersfield’s always had its weird moments, but you’re picking up on something special tonight. Don’t let it lull you—these things have a way of leading you right where they want you.”

Kain smirked, leaning into a turn as he wove through a line of cars, the headlights illuminating his path with fleeting bursts of white and gold. He could sense the trail now, almost like a scent on the wind, leading him back into a familiar part of town, where the hum of Bakersfield’s nightlife was just beginning to stir. The faint throb of bass from a nearby club, the laughter spilling from an open bar door, the chatter of people getting ready to unwind. All of it faded into the background as he honed in, the dark energy tugging him forward, almost like a challenge.

The taste lingered, sharper now, and his pulse quickened in response, the thrill of the hunt sparking to life inside him. This wasn’t just another night in Bakersfield—this was a lead, the kind that set his instincts alight. He let the bike roar beneath him, feeling the tension and anticipation build, knowing he was about to step deeper into a world most people only glimpsed in nightmares.

And in that moment, he felt it—the undeniable pull, the thrill, the unmistakable promise of a fight. The Hunt…