The Mark

CONTRACTED TO THE DEVIL'S BODYGUARD

EPISODE 1 - THE MARK

365:00:00

The rain was the kind that drowned sirens.

The kind that washed blood off the pavement and secrets off the city.

Ava Lane was cutting through the alley behind Blackwood Corp to get home faster. She was a broke art student, juggling 2 jobs, zero time for detours, and even less time for trouble. Her sketchbook was tucked under her arm, pages already warping from the drizzle. She had a 7am shift at the cafe, a midterm to fail, and rent due in 3 days.

That’s when she heard the crash.

Metal screamed. Glass shattered.

Not the sound of a fender bender. The sound of something being ripped out of the world.

A black car was flipped in the middle of the street. No plates. No logo. Just matte black armor and tinted windows that looked like they could stop bullets.

Smoke curled out of the hood, but there was no fire. Just cold, wrong-smelling air.

Ava dropped her sketchbook. It landed with a wet slap.

"Hello?" she called out. Her voice sounded small against the rain. "Is anyone"

The driver’s door was caved in like something had punched it from the inside. Inside, a man. Late 20s maybe. Black suit, tailored, soaked through. Blood on his temple.

But it wasn’t red.

It was black. Thick. Like ink. Like oil.

It dripped slow down his face and hissed where it hit the wet street.

His eyes snapped open.

Gold.

Not human. Not even close. Vertical pupils, burning like coins held to a flame.

Stranger: (voice rough, like he hadn’t used it in years) "Don’t touch me."

Ava: "You’re bleeding. Don’t be an idiot."

She reached in and pulled him out. He was heavy. Too heavy. Like his bones were made of something denser than human. The moment her hands touched his arm, fire lanced up her forearm.

Pain. Sharp. Deep.

She yanked her sleeve up.

A sigil. Three lines, shaped like a claw. It glowed once, hot red, under her skin, then vanished, leaving a faint ache behind.

Sirens in the distance. But not ambulances.

Tires. Multiple cars. Coming fast. Coordinated.

The stranger grabbed her wrist. His grip was freezing. It burned worse than the sigil.

Stranger: "Run. They’re not here for me."

Ava: "What are you?"

Before he could answer, a black SUV screeched to a stop 10 feet away. Doors opened. Men in tactical masks got out. No badges. Guns raised. They moved like they’d done this before.

The stranger shoved her behind a dumpster and stood.

For one second, his shadow stretched wrong. It grew too tall, too wide. Too many arms. Too many teeth in a smile that wasn’t a smile. The air went cold and the rain stopped hitting the ground around him, like it was afraid to.

Then the alley went dark.

When Ava opened her eyes, he was gone.

The car was gone.

The men were gone.

Only the rain and the smell of ozone, sharp and metallic. Like lightning had struck and missed.

It all seemed like an illusion. A dream. Deja vu wearing a stranger’s face.

Her wrist hurt.

She looked down. Nothing. No mark. Just rain.

The Next Morning

6:03 AM. Her apartment.

Ava was late for her shift. She stumbled into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and rolled up her sleeve to wash her hands.

The sigil was back.

Burned into her skin, right over her pulse. Three clawed lines, glowing faint red. It pulsed once, in time with her heart.

And floating in the corner of her vision, translucent, like a phone notification she couldn’t swipe away:

365:00:00

The numbers ticked down to 364:23:59

Ava: "What the hell."

Her phone buzzed on the sink. Unknown number.

Text: `Vessel confirmed. House Blackthorn. Do not leave your residence. Extraction in 20.`

Ava threw the phone. It skidded across the tile.

Ava: "I didn’t sign anything! I didn’t agree to"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Hard. Military. Three precise hits.

Voice from the door, low and cold. Like winter pressed to glass.

Ryder: "Open the door, Ava Lane."

Ryder: "I’m your bodyguard. And you’ve got 364 days to live."

She looked at the sigil. It pulsed again. Hotter this time.

From outside, another sound. Softer.

Boots on the fire escape. Moving fast.

Not Ryder’s.

Someone else got the text too.

And they weren’t here to protect her.

...TO BE CONTINUED......

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