Part 1:Crimson Street Of Madrid
5th January 2022, 03:00 AM – Madrid, Southern District
Madrid didn't sleep; it only waited.
The rain had been falling steady for hours, slicking the cobblestones and turning the narrow alleys into rivers of shadow. Street lamps flickered weakly behind a curtain of mist, their light swallowed before it even reached the cracked pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked—a sharp, lonely sound lost beneath the roar of the city's restless heartbeat.
In this part of the city, under layers of history and beauty, the rot festered.
Inside a nearly empty café on Calle de Embajadores, two men sat hunched over chipped mugs of bitter coffee. The dim yellow light painted their faces with tired lines and suspicion. Outside, the rain pattered softly against the grimy windowpane, a rhythm that matched the slow pulse of whispered rumors.
Man #1:
"You hear about those bodies they found near Atocha? Three of them. Missing organs."
His voice was low, eyes darting to the door like he expected someone to burst in any second.
Man #2:
"Tried to say it was some freak accident. But no way. You don't lose organs by accident, not all of them."
He shook his head and took a slow sip.
"Whole city's gone to hell. People disappearing like ghosts. And the cops? They're all talk, no action."
Man #1:
"Yeah, and the mayor's still out there preaching everything's fine. Laughable. Meanwhile, the black market's booming. I heard the organ trade's bigger than ever—kidneys, livers, even hearts."
He paused, voice dropping even lower.
"God knows who's buying."
From a nearby table, a group of young women whispered behind hands, their conversation drifting into the men's ears.
Woman #1:
"Did you see the news last night? Another girl vanished from Lavapiés. No clues, nothing."
Woman #2:
"They say it's gang-related. Some kind of human trafficking, but no one talks. Everyone's scared."
Woman #3:
"It's not just that… There's been talk of a new crew. Girls, they say. Silent. Deadly."
Woman #1 (laughing nervously):
"Sounds like a bad movie."
Woman #2:
"Maybe. But I don't want to be around to find out if it's real."
Across the room, the café radio played softly, news drifting through the haze.
"Authorities remain baffled after a triple homicide near Calle de Atocha. Victims found with internal organs missing, no signs of forced entry or struggle. The public is urged to remain vigilant as investigations continue."
"Another teenager reported missing in the southern district, believed to be linked to rising gang activity. Police say leads are scarce, and community members are urged to come forward with any information."
"Despite the mayor's claims of decreasing crime rates, leaked footage shows an apparent execution involving suspected cartel members and law enforcement officials. The city's underworld is said to be expanding unchecked."
The words felt like a cold slap, sinking into the thick air like the rain outside.
Man #2:
"Funny thing is, everyone hears this stuff, but no one really listens. Like it's just noise."
Man #1:
"Noise that gets louder every night. Soon, it won't be background anymore."
A silence fell between them, broken only by the slow drip of water from the café's leaking ceiling.
Outside, the storm picked up. Somewhere in the darkness, a lone figure moved—quiet, deliberate. Her eyes caught the dim light of the streetlamp as she paused to adjust the silver bracelet on her wrist, carved with a crescent moon.
Madrid was waiting.