The smell of spicy currywurst and the distant hum of traffic were the usual backdrop to Maddox's (Reese's old alias) day, a fleeting moment of normalcy before the world reminded him of its true, monstrous nature. He and his partner, Gian, were finishing their lunch at Eleanor's snack bar, a brief respite from the relentless grind.

“Did you notice what was going on over in Florida?” Gian asked, his voice low between bites. He was talking about the 'Live for Animals' incident, where four people died, but two 'cranes'—Proles—escaped.

Reese nearly choked on his food. “LFA? Really?” That group was responsible for unleashing this plague two years ago. The thought made his stomach churn, not from hunger, but from a familiar dread.

The radio crackled on his belt, slicing through the mundane. A tinny voice announced: “Rauxeler Weg two, children's birthday, three seven seven, proles unknown.” A child’s birthday. The words hung heavy in the air. Proles at a child’s birthday could only mean one thing: a bloodbath.

Without a word, Reese and Gian were in their car, Gian’s foot heavy on the accelerator. The world blurred as they sped towards the unknown horror, leaving the half-eaten currywurst behind. Reese could only brace himself, the image of what awaited them already forming in his mind, a grim tableau of innocence shattered by the very monsters he was sworn to hunt.