After asking around for directions—since Tia didn't know where the junkyard was—the group finally arrived. The sun was still shining, though it was inching closer to the horizon.
The place was a maze of rusting, stacked-up vehicles, forcing them to weave on foot between towers of junk. Eventually, they reached a crumbling building hidden among the wreckage—once a gas station, now little more than a skeleton buried under scrap metal.
Near a battered pickup truck, a thin old man tinkered under the hood.
Beth led the way, approaching him with a professional air. "Good afternoon, sir."
The old man turned at the voice, warily eyeing their group. His gaze lingered on Beth's police uniform. "Whatcha want? I didn't do anything illegal!"
Beth smiled politely. "We're not here for any crime, sir. We're looking for someone—David Sofer."
At the mention of the name, a strange glint flickered in the old man's eyes. He shifted uncomfortably. "Lil' David? You his sister?" He glanced at Tia. "He's not here."
Tia mutters, "But my sister said he should be here..."
The old man's mood suddenly snapped. "Well he's not here anymore, so leave me be!" he barked, voice rising with a shaky kind of anger.
The group fell into a moment of tense silence, surprised by the outburst.
Anymore?
Adam glanced at Jackie, who gave a subtle nod in return, suspicion in his eyes.
Beth narrowed her eyes, "Sir, would you mind if we take a quick look around the building? Just in case he left something behind."
The old man glanced toward the workshop behind him, then back at Beth. "No! You can't! He didn't leave anything. He left long ago!"
Beth leaned slightly closer, her voice low but firm. "Arnold, hold him. Peter, Sarah—watch the perimeter. The rest of you, follow me."
Arnold blurred forward in a flash of motion, his large hand clamping onto the old man's bony shoulder before he could react. The old man yelped in surprise and struggled to turn around.
"Hey! You can't go in there! That's private property! You're trespassing!" he shouted, writhing. He tried to hobble forward, but Arnold's grip was immovable.
The team moved past the pickup, stepping over scattered tires, tangled wires, and metal scrap littered like confetti. The air inside the workshop was stale and heavy, filled with the scent of gasoline and old machinery. Racks of rusting tools lined the walls. A broken radio crackled static from a shelf, and faded posters of racing cars and old pin-ups curled at the edges.
In one corner, a half-dismantled motorcycle sat like a corpse mid-autopsy. Nearby, an old locker stood slightly ajar.
Tia gasped, her eyes widening. "My brother's uniform!"
She rushed forward and pointed to a worn school blazer, draped haphazardly over the locker's knob. Her fingers brushed against the fabric as she grabs it.
Jackie crouched near the wall, brushing aside metal shavings and oil stains from the floor.
"Guys." He motioned them over. "There's blood here."
Everyone gathered around, eyes narrowing as they took in the smeared crimson patches staining the concrete.
"This doesn't look like an accident," Adam murmured. "It's like someone was beaten up here."
Tia clutched the blazer to her chest, her voice thin and trembling.
"No... David..."
Beth's eyes darkened. She turned back toward the entrance.
"Let's ask him again."
They hurried outside.
Arnold stood like a statue, one hand still locked around the old man's shoulder. The old man looked up with a poor attempt at innocence.
"He tried to escape," Arnold said flatly.
"I didn't! I was just tryin' to take a leak!" the old man protested, putting on a show of frailty. He coughed dramatically. "See? My tubercorsis is getting worse!"
Beth stared him down coldly. "It's tuberculosis."
"Whatever!" the man huffed. "I didn't do anything! David's not here!"
Beth didn't even blink. "Peter."
Peter nodded, raising a hand. A gleaming ice spear materialized in the air beside him, sharp and deadly.
The old man's face drained of color. "A-Ah! Y-you're those... whatchamacallit... Welders!"
"Wielders," Beth corrected icily. She stepped forward. "Where is David?"
"I swear I don't know!" the old man yelped, struggling against Arnold's iron grip.
Beth flicked her fingers. The ice spear floated closer, dangerously close to his face.
"Wait, wait!" he cried out, trembling. "I don't know where he is—but I know who took him!"
Beth's eyes narrowed. "Spit it out."
The old man swallowed hard. His voice was hoarse. "I'm just sayin', I didn't tell you this, okay?" He takes a deep breath, "He got snatched by Viper's boys a while ago. I don't know why." He lifted his shirt, revealing a nasty bruise on his ribs. "I tried talkin' to 'em, but they roughed me up. Threatened my family too." His head dropped in defeat.
Beth frowned deeply.
Adam's voice was low with anger. "Aren't they afraid of the police? Kidnapping people in broad daylight?"
The old man gave a bitter laugh. "You ain't from 'round here. Cops don't care what happens here. They're probably gettin' paid to look the other way. 'Sides, after that... that Ride thing or whatever happened a few weeks ago, they've been too busy chasin' monsters to care about us."
The group fell into heavy silence, the weight of his words settling over them.
Beth rubbed her temples. "I didn't know it was this bad."
Adam clenched his fists. "I remember those Viper thugs saying something about organ selling being more popular lately."
Sarah's hands curled into tight fists. Jackie stood grim-faced, unusually silent.
Tia looked ready to burst into tears, fidgeting helplessly.
Adam broke the silence, turning to Beth. "Could the Viper gang be connected to the girl's disappearance?"
Beth's brow furrowed, her voice cautious. "I doubt they'd be that reckless. The Flaiers are powerful—too powerful. Viper knows better than to stir that kind of hornet's nest... unless they're tired of living, they won't do it. Probably."
She paused, then gave a small nod. "Still, it's a lead. I'll report it to the supervisor—see if we can dig up anything more."
Peter, silent until now, turned to Tia. "Can you call your brother again?"
Everyone turned to him in surprise.
"Y-yes!" Tia stammered. "Should I call him right now?"
Peter shook his head. "Not yet. Let me set something up first."
He quickly pulled his laptop from his bag, opening it with swift efficiency. "Give me your phone," he said to Tia.
Fumbling in her pocket, she handed it over. Peter connected her phone to his laptop with a cable and began typing furiously.
Adam, Jackie, and the others peered over his shoulder. The screen displayed an unfamiliar application—a map interface dotted with icons. Their current location blinked at the center.
Peter looked up. "Okay. Call him."
Tia nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she initiated the call.
The phone rang for a while. Nobody answered.
Peter typed something on his laptop. A progress bar appeared, as if it's tracking signal. His expression didn't change.
A moment later, he looked up at Beth.
"I got it."
-----------------------------------------------------------
The moon shone brightly over the dimly lit street, casting pale light over the crumbling asphalt. The streetlights flickered and buzzed weakly as South Squad's patrol car rolled past, its tires whispering over the cracked pavement.
"We're close," Peter said, eyes glued to his phone screen. A small blinking icon on a map showed the last known location of David's phone.
Arnold peered out the window, his expression grim. "This is an abandoned private community. Burned down about twelve years ago." His voice was low. "Biggest fire outbreak in the city's history. They never rebuilt—probably too expensive to touch the place now."
The car continued along the ruined streets. They had driven over thirty minutes from the slums to reach the city's forgotten outskirts.
Peter leaned forward, pointing at the screen. "Slow down. The signal's just a few meters ahead."
Beth eased off the gas, her eyes scanning the surroundings. There were no suspicious buildings in sight—only darkness and abandoned structures. She frowned and pulled over to the side of the cracked road.
They all peered through the windows, but there were no signs of life—just overgrowth and dust.
Beth glanced at Tia. "Try calling him again."
Tia nodded and tapped her phone. The line rang.
"Let's go look around," Beth said, stepping out.
They followed Peter, who was carefully watching the signal on his phone. He led them down a path that curved toward a dried-out canal—more accurately, a concrete drainage ditch overgrown with weeds.
"There." Peter pointed.
A phone lay on a patch of grass poking through the concrete, its screen cracked, vibrating as Tia's call came through.