If you’re just finding this story, go back to Episode 1 — Clouds from the Ocean.
Nothing ever starts when you think it does.
By the time Caleb noticed the clouds, the storm had already been moving for a while.
The city hums before it speaks.
Caleb watches it through the cracked windshield of the white Volkswagen van—the way the skyscraper windows catch club lights and toss them back in fractured color, the way bass from somewhere unseen travels through brick and bone. A plane cuts low overhead, blinking red against the smog-hazed stars. The air smells like rain that never quite fell and electricity that never quite sleeps.
Javier folds a slice of cheese pizza in half and takes a loud bite. Grease glistens on his fingers in the glow of the dashboard monitors.
“You’re staring again,” Javier says, chewing.
“At what?”
“At nothing. That’s the problem.”
Caleb shifts in the passenger seat. “I think Melissa’s hiding something.”
Javier snorts. “You’re on a stakeout for alien sewer monsters and you’re worried about your girlfriend?”
“I’m serious.”
“Or,” Javier says, licking sauce from his thumb, “you feel guilty for hiding something from her.”
Caleb keeps his eyes on the street. A couple stumbles past the van, laughing too loud, heels scraping concrete.
“She knows,” Caleb says.
“Knows what?”
“She saw your text.”
Javier pauses. “That explains the twelve missed calls.”
“Call her back.”
“You call her back.”
“Caleb!”
Both of them jolt.
Gina pops up beside the passenger window like she’s risen from the pavement itself. Caleb’s heart slams against his ribs. Javier chokes on crust.
Gina grips her side, laughing so hard she can barely stand. “You should’ve seen your faces.”
“That’s not funny,” Caleb snaps, still catching his breath. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.” She folds her arms. “Your ‘I’m going to sleep early’ act? Maybe it works on Mom. Not me. Why are you sneaking out?”
Caleb opens his mouth. Nothing comes.
Javier mutters, “I can’t believe you didn’t notice she was following us. You’re getting sloppy, bro.”
“I am not.”
“Answer me, Caleb.” Gina’s voice loses its edge of humor. “What are you doing?”
Caleb looks past her—to the skyline burning in reflected neon, to the shadows pooling between buildings. He inhales. Holds it. If he exhales, it all comes out.
A tin can clatters behind her.
The sound echoes down the alley like something metal dragged across teeth.
Javier straightens. “Finally.”
He’s out of the driver’s seat before the echo dies, sliding open the van’s side door. The interior lights flick on—revealing the welded swivel chair, the rack of modified weapons, the humming monitors mapping sewer heat signatures below their feet.
Gina’s laughter fades. “Caleb?”
“Get in the van,” Caleb says, already stepping out.
“What?”
“Now.”
Javier grabs a plasma blaster from the rack and tosses it to Caleb. The weapon hums alive in his hands, blue light crawling across his knuckles.
An eerie hiss uncoils from the alley.
Gina turns toward it. The shadows seem to ripple.
“Caleb,” she whispers.
He places a hand on her shoulder, gentler than his voice. “I promise I’ll explain everything. Just get inside.”
He guides her into the van and shuts the door.
The alley breathes damp and sour. Trash bags tremble. Something slick drags across concrete.
They appear slowly—serpent-like slugs, thick as fire hoses, their skin translucent and pulsing. They rear up, rows of shark-like teeth unfolding from circular mouths. Their hiss grows, layered and wet.
Caleb fires.
Blue plasma splits the dark. One slug convulses and bursts, splattering the brick wall in steaming green-black slime.
More spill from a cracked storm drain.
“We’re outnumbered,” Caleb says. “Fall back—higher ground.”
“I’ve got this!” Javier shouts, already advancing.
“Javi—”
Too late.
Javier charges, boots splashing through refuse. He yanks an evaporator grenade from his belt, slams his thumb onto the glowing trigger, and hurls it into the storm drain.
The alley flashes blue.
The blast swallows sound for half a second—then the slugs shriek. The noise pierces. Caleb feels it behind his eyes, in his teeth. Inside the van, Gina clamps her hands over her ears.
The drain erupts.
Slime rains down in hot, stinking sheets.
When the smoke clears, nothing moves.
Javier stands in the middle of the mess, soaked and grinning. “I win.”
Caleb lowers his blaster, slime dripping from his sleeve. “No, you don’t. Plasma kills count. You know the rules.”
Javier laughs. “A win is a win.”
They slog back to the van, boots peeling from pavement.
Gina throws open the doors, staring at them—at the weapons, the scorch marks, the gore. “Start talking. Now.”
Javier slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. The van pulls into traffic like nothing happened.
Caleb exhales slowly.
“I don’t know where to begin.”
“Begin with why you smell like a toxic waste facility,” Gina says, gagging. “Open a window. Please.”
Javier rolls them down. Night air floods in—cooler, cleaner.
Gina leans forward between the seats. “When did you learn to drive like this?”
Javier glances at Caleb. Caleb stares out at passing storefronts, neon sliding across his reflection.
“Caleb,” Gina says softly. “You can talk to me.”
He swallows. “We didn’t know what we were doing at first. He—”
“Who?”
“The man who recruited us. Alonso Meyers.”
Javier checks the rearview mirror as if the name itself might appear behind them.
“Recruited you to do what? Kill those things?”
“No. Collect them.” Caleb’s jaw tightens. “We think he’s building something. Whatever it is—we’re going to stop him.”
The van turns onto Westside Avenue, quieter now. Porch lights glow warm against stucco homes.
Javier stops in front of their house.
A tan Lexus and a green Mazda sit in the driveway.
“She slept over again,” Caleb mutters.
Gina smirks. “They’re soulmates. Accept it.”
They climb out.
Caleb grips Javier’s hand through the open window. “Text me when you get home.”
“I will.”
Caleb doesn’t let go. “Call your sister, man. She misses you.”
Javier nods, blinking hard. “I know.”
The van pulls away.
Crickets take over where engines leave off.
Gina walks beside Caleb toward the side yard. “What did you get yourself into?”
He stares at the dark line of trees beyond their fence. “At first I thought we were saving the city. Then I realized the guy who told us that is a liar. And maybe worse.” His voice thins. “I didn’t know how to say that out loud.”
Gina steps toward him, then wrinkles her nose. “I would hug you, but you need three showers first.”
He laughs despite himself.
She grips his hand. “Seriously. Don’t shut me out. It scares me not knowing. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”
He wipes at his eyes quickly. “You’re not losing me.”
“Promise?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
“Good night, Caleb.”
“Night.”
They climb through their separate bedroom windows.
Caleb waits until Gina disappears inside. Only then does he lift himself through his own.
A shadow detaches from the fence line.
Hands clamp around his arms.
He gasps, twisting, but another figure grabs his legs. A rag presses over his mouth, sharp with chemicals. He fights—kicks—tries to shout Gina’s name.
The night swallows the sound.
His strength drains. The world tilts sideways. The open window drifts farther away as they drag him across the yard and into the dark between houses.
An owl hoots.
Somewhere downtown, bass still pulses.
Caleb’s bedroom window stays open.
The curtains move like someone breathing.
Thank you for reading!
If you want to know what set all of this in motion—
the friendships, the lies, the first time the Westside cracked—
those stories are waiting in Season One.