Page 56 of Tormented By Regret

“I appreciate the reassurance, brother, but I need you to focus.” I ordered.

As the tension in the room thickened, Hoax's fingers danced across the keyboard, his eyes fixed on the screen as he manipulated the images and data in search of Powertrain's location. The air hung heavy with anticipation, each passing second feeling like an eternity as we waited quietly for any sign of progress.

Suddenly, Hoax let out a triumphant grunt, his face lighting up as he pointed to a blinking dot on the map displayed on the screen. "Got him," he declared, his voice filled with determination.

“Tick Tock was on the money. Powertrain is at Charity Hospital in downtown New Orleans.” Hoax confirmed, waiting on Jameson’s orders.

“Let’s move!” Jameson ordered and we wasted no time in following orders and gearing up. The sound of leather creaking and metal clinking filled the room as we strapped on our weapons. We were outside and mounting our bikes in a matter of seconds.

"Spectre, you take lead, and Macabre, you are his number two," Jameson barked, his voice ringing out over the roar of the motorcycle engines. "Hoax, give 'em the coordinates and keep tracking Powertrain's movements. We need to know where he is at all times. We’re moving out."

Tick Tock, his face grim and determined, nodded in acknowledgment, his hand already resting on the hilt of his gun. Beside him, Macabre's jaw was set in a hard line, his eyes burning with determination.

I couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at my insides. This wasn't just another run for me. This was a rescue mission, and failure was not an option, not when it came to Whisper. My bike roared to life and as Ethan gave me a nod, we took off, the members falling in line behind us.

POWERTRAIN

Ihad his location, and I was now entering the monster’s territory. The night was pitch black, and the old hospital’s decaying structure was barely visible against the dark empty avenue. I approached cautiously, every sense on high alert, gun in hand.

The place had seen better days before Hurricane Katrina. Now, its massive, hulking structure was marred by years of exposure to the elements. The once-pristine exterior was stained with grime and moss, cracks spider webbed across the concrete walls. Windows were shattered or boarded up, the glass shards reflecting the shadows that consumed it. Vines and ivy creeped up the sides of the building, as nature slowly reclaimed what was once hers.

I slipped through a rusted door. It creaked ominously as I pushed it open. The interior of the hospital was even more foreboding than the outside. The air was thick with the smell of mildew and rot, the walls stained with water damage and graffiti. Every step I took echoed through the empty corridors, the sound amplifying the eerie silence that pervaded the place. Shadows danced along the walls, created by the faint light that managed to seep through the broken windows.

I slipped my phone out of my pocket, turning on the flashlight as I walked through the front entrance carefully, avoiding the broken glass and debris that littered the floor. There was broken furniture, scattered papers, and medical equipment left to rust. The ceiling was pockmarked with holes, where water dripped steadily into murky puddles below.

I looked one way then the other, the hallways were long and winding. I realized quickly that the grounds were too large for me to search them alone. I needed backup, and I regretted not having Tick tock come with me. The old place gave off a haunting feeling, with its walls peeling, the layers of paint flaking off to reveal the bare plaster beneath. Occasionally, an old, rusted wheelchair or gurney could be seen pushed against a wall, as if hastily abandoned.

As I flashed my phone into each room, I noticed that some of the patient rooms still had beds, their mattresses sagging and stained, sheets left in disarray. Medical charts and personal belongings lay scattered, untouched since the day the hospital was evacuated.

The deeper I went, the colder it became. In some rooms, the ceiling tiles had collapsed, leaving heaps of rubble on the floor. Old, rusting instruments lay in trays, while the operating tables shrouded in dust. I reached one of the stairwells which was dark and foreboding, and I hesitated. The sound of dripping water was the only constant, a slow, rhythmic reminder of time ticking by. Doors creaked on their hinges, swinging gently as if moved by unseen hands. The sensation of being watched was overwhelming, every hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

As I moved further into the hospital, a faint sound caught my attention—a whisper, almost inaudible, but unmistakably human. I followed the sound, my heart pounding harder with each step. The corridor ended in a set of double doors, one of which was slightly ajar. I pushed it open, revealing a large, open room.

In the center of the room, a figure stood, partially obscured by the shadows. It was a woman, her back to me, seemingly unaware of my presence. I watched as she moved cautiously, every movement filled with trepidation.

“Whisper?” I hesitated, the eerie atmosphere of the place pressing down on me.

The figure slightly turned to me, her eyes wide with fear. Her resemblance to Whisper shocked me, and the confusion slowly overwhelmed me. As I followed her gaze, I noticed the cage on the floor, and inside it stood a small raven.

Panic flooded through my brain, and as I took a step further into the room when something heavy collided against the back of my head. Pain exploded behind my eyes, and the world tilted dangerously. I stumbled forward, my vision swimming, before everything went black.

When I came to, my head throbbed with a dull ache, and my surroundings slowly came into focus. I was strapped into an old wooden wheelchair, my wrists bound tightly to the armrests.

Across the room, Hargrave moved with predatory grace, his silhouette a menacing presence against the dim light. He was rummaging through the old trays, pulling out instruments with a cold, calculated precision. My heart hammered in my chest as I watched him, knowing all too well what he was capable of.

He turned towards me, a cruel smile twisting his lips as he brandished a sharp scalpel. "Lee," he purred, his voice dripping with malice. "So good of you to join us."

I struggled against my restraints, but they held me fast. Fear clawed at my throat, threatening to choke me. "You can kill me, but you let them go." I managed to croak, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” He asked.

He walked over to the cage, and I jerked, trying to rip myself out of the restraints, but it was of no use. They were made of thick leather, like those used in the psych wards to keep patients from hurting themselves.

“You never told me the fascinating pet you had.” He crouched down to look through the cage opening, and the raven cawed, as if cursing at him.

Hargrave's smile widened, revealing gleaming teeth. "I think a little dissection wouldn’t hurt. See what lies beneath the surface of those wings.”

My blood ran cold at his words. We were in real danger. Hargrave's twisted mind had concocted some horrifying plan for us and as I searched for a way out while hoping that Hoax had my location.

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