Infamous Shifter’s Genesis

Trish stood on the roof of the makeshift clinic, her eyes scanning the city skyline where plumes of smoke still curled into the sky like dark tendrils. Empire City was a wounded beast, reeling from the catastrophic events that had shattered its heart. Even from this distance, the devastation was evident—buildings reduced to rubble, streets scarred by destruction, and the ever-present smell of ash and burning lingering in the air. It was a sight that should have numbed her, given all she had witnessed in the past few days, but instead, it only deepened the ache in her chest.

 

She tightened her grip on the edge of the roof, her knuckles turning white as she tried to steady herself. The phone in her pocket vibrated, its insistent ringing breaking through her reverie. She pulled it out, the caller ID flashing on the screen: Empire City Memorial Hospital.

 

Trish stared at the phone, her breath catching in her throat. She didn’t need to answer the call to know what it was about. Damian’s memories had already revealed to her what this call would entail—the death of her sister, Amy. She had been bracing herself for this moment, knowing it was inevitable, yet the reality of it hit her like a sledgehammer to the chest. The world around her seemed to blur as she pressed the answer button and brought the phone to her ear.

 

“Hello?” Trish’s voice was steady, though it felt as though she was speaking through a fog.

 

“Is this Trish Dailey?” The voice on the other end was young, almost hesitant, as if the woman already knew the pain she was about to inflict.

 

“Yes, this is Trish,” she replied, her heart thudding in her chest as she waited for the words she knew were coming.

 

There was a brief pause, the silence on the line stretching out for what felt like an eternity before the woman finally spoke again. “We regret to inform you that your sister, Amy, died as a result of the Blast. We’ve identified her body, and we’d like you to come in as soon as possible to confirm.”

 

The words were clinical, delivered with the detached professionalism of someone who had made similar calls countless times before. But to Trish, they were like knives, each word slicing through her resolve and leaving a deep, raw wound in its wake.

 

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Trish replied, her voice flat and emotionless. She didn’t wait for the woman on the other end to respond before ending the call.

 

For a moment, Trish stood there, her phone still clutched in her hand as she stared out at the ruined city. The pain was overwhelming, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest, but she couldn’t afford to crumble. Not now. There was too much at stake, so much would depend on her. Slipping the phone back into her pocket as she walked toward the stairwell that would take her back down to the clinic.

 

Inside, the chaos of the makeshift hospital buzzed around her—patients being wheeled in, doctors and nurses rushing to and fro, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and desperation. Trish navigated the crowded corridors with practiced ease, her mind a whirl of thoughts as she made her way back to the small office she had claimed as her own. She needed to drop off the medical supplies she had picked up earlier before heading out.

 

Cole was waiting for her in the office, his face etched with worry as she entered. He was sitting up in the bed, a move that was obviously causing him pain, but he was too stubborn to admit it.

 

“Where’ve you been?” Cole asked, his voice rough from both concern and the lingering effects of his injuries. “I was starting to think you’d gone off and left me here.”

 

Trish managed a small, sad smile as she approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him back down onto the bed. “You need to stop fussing over me and focus on getting better,” she chided softly. “I’m fine. Just gave some of the supplies where they were needed.”

 

“I’ll be back before you know it. So rest up and get better soon” She handed him some medicine, her touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, a silent reassurance.

 

With the supplies safely stored away and Cole properly medicated, Trish turned to leave. She texted Zeke, letting him know she was going out for a while and would be back soon, then slipped out of the clinic without another word. The city streets were quieter now, though the tension in the air was palpable, a city on the brink, teetering between survival and collapse.

 

It didn’t take long for Trish to reach the hospital. The once-bustling facility was now a shadow of its former self, the staff overwhelmed by the sheer number of casualties from the Blast. Inside, the atmosphere was heavy with grief, the air thick with the scent of death and disinfectant.

 

After confirming her identity at the front desk, Trish was led through the labyrinthine corridors to the morgue. Finally, they reached the morgue, a cold, clinical room where the dead were laid out in rows. The coroner, a weary-looking man with deep lines etched into his face, greeted her with a solemn nod before leading her to one of the covered bodies.

 

Trish’s breath caught in her throat as the coroner pulled back the sheet to reveal Amy’s body. Her sister’s face was barely recognizable, charred and bloody, with patches of burned skin and deep lacerations that told a story of unimaginable suffering. It was clear she had been trapped under burning rubble, her last moments filled with pain and terror.

 

Trish felt her knees buckle, her body swaying as she struggled to remain upright. The coroner’s voice was a distant murmur, asking if she wished to have the hospital cremate the body, but Trish barely heard him. All she could see was the burned, lifeless form of her sister, the reality of her loss hitting her like a tidal wave.

 

“No,” Trish whispered, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “She’s had enough of being burned.” The thought of cremation was too cruel, too final, after all that Amy had already endured.

 

The coroner’s expression softened with understanding, and he nodded. “Of course. What would you like to do instead?”

 

Trish didn’t hesitate for a moment. There was one thing she knew for certain—she couldn’t leave Amy here, in this cold, sterile place.

 

“I’d like to sign out the body,” Trish said finally, her voice steadier now, more resolute. “I’ll take care of the arrangements myself.”

 

The coroner nodded again, this time with a hint of respect. “I’ll get the paperwork ready. Take your time.”

 

Trish stood by her sister’s side for a few moments longer, her heart breaking as she took in the sight of what remained of the person she had loved so dearly. She reached out, her fingers gently brushing against Amy’s cold, lifeless hand.

 

Trish’s hand lingered on Amy’s lifeless form. The decision she was about to make weighed heavily on her, a choice that would forever alter the course of her life. She had never imagined that she would be standing here, in this cold morgue, contemplating something she would have thought unthinkable. But the world had changed, and so had she.

 

The coroner cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “If you’re ready, Miss Dailey, we can discuss the arrangements for your sister’s body.”

 

Trish looked up, her eyes locking onto the coroner’s weary gaze. “Yes,” she said, her voice stronger now, tinged with a cold resolve. “I want the body delivered to a mortician I know.”

 

The coroner frowned slightly, uncertainty flashing across his features. “I’m not sure if that will be possible. Many of the local morticians have closed down due to the damage from the Blast. It’s a chaotic situation, and—”

 

“He’s still operating,” Trish interrupted, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “I know the owner personally. He owes me for treating him at my clinic, so he’ll do it. Just make sure the body gets there.”

 

The coroner hesitated, but Trish’s steely resolve left little room for argument. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. You’ll need to pay the fee at the receptionist’s desk. After that, we’ll arrange for the transport.”

 

Trish offered a curt nod in response, her mind already spinning with the plans she needed to set in motion. “Thank you,” she said, though the words felt hollow in her mouth. Without another glance at Amy’s body, she turned and left the morgue, her footsteps echoing in the sterile corridors.