Joshua Coffey did not answer.
His features remained distorted in a strange posture of terror, his left arm extended defensively while his right hand slid discreetly toward his lower back.
“Keep your hands visible!
Turn around now!” Nick commanded, his voice ringing across the empty field.
Before the command could fully echo, the air around Coffey seemed to warp again.
Coarse, grayish-brown fur bristled across his face and forearms.
His facial structure shifted with sickening fluidity—his jaw protruding forward, lips curling back to expose rows of jagged, elongated teeth.
His ears lengthened and shifted upward, standing erect like those of a feral predator.
It was a violent, seamless metamorphosis—not a theatrical transformation, but a grotesque, visceral rearrangement of flesh and bone.
The shift was accompanied by a wet, guttural snarl that vibrated in Nick’s chest.
At that moment, a sudden, violent surge ignited within Nick’s veins—an ancient, dormant instinct awakening from deep within his bloodline.
It was a cold, absolute focus, accompanied by an inexplicable, primal revulsion toward the beast before him.
He’s pulling a weapon!
Coffey’s right hand whipped out from behind his coat, holding a rusted snub-nosed revolver.
With less than twenty feet between them, Coffey raised the barrel directly toward Nick’s chest.
Nick’s heightened reflexes took control.
In a single fluid motion, he fired the Taser with his left hand while hurling his torso laterally to the left.
The moment his left hand released the Taser, his right hand unlatched the retention hood of his Safariland holster, drawing his Glock 22 and driving the sight line onto target as his shoulder struck the dry earth.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
The sharp report of the snub-nosed revolver overlapped with the metallic bark of the .40 S&W.
A scorching draft grazed Nick’s left ear as the suspect’s bullet tore through the dry grass behind him.
Hitting the ground at an awkward angle, Nick maintained his two-handed grip on the handgun, firing three rapid rounds into the center mass of the charging figure.
But as the slide cycled back, the off-balance position caused a stovepipe malfunction—the spent casing jammed tightly in the ejection port.
Without a second of hesitation, Nick executed an immediate action drill: Tap, Rack, Re-engage.
His left hand swept across the slide, clearing the stovepipe and chambering a fresh round in under half a second.
Bark!
Bark!
Bark!
Bark!
Nick pressed the trigger in controlled, rhythmic sequence until the slide locked back empty.
The suspect crumpled hard onto the dusty earth, the revolver slipping from his limp fingers.
The acrid stench of cordite and ozone hung heavy in the warm air.
Nick rolled to his knees, his eyes locked onto the motionless body.
As life drained from the suspect, the coarse fur and extended jaw rapidly receded, leaving behind the plain, lifeless corpse of Joshua Coffey in his human form.
Nick took a deep, steadying breath, suppressing the lingering adrenaline surge, and keyed his lapel mic.
“Dispatch, 78!
Shots fired!
10-99, officer-involved shooting at the Alberta vacant lot!
Suspect is down!
Send medical and a supervisor immediately!”
Radio silence held for a split second before Laila’s voice broke through, tight with panic.
“78!
Nick, are you copy?
Are you injured?”
“I’m uninjured,” Nick replied, his voice firm and controlled.
“Scene is secure.
Advise incoming units to approach from the north access lane.”
“Copy, 78.
Paramedics and supervisor dispatched.”
Glancing back toward Alberta Street, Nick noticed a local news van from KGW News pulled up along the curb.
A field reporter and cameraman were already spilling out of the vehicle, lenses raised toward the field.
Nick stood up, holstered his empty weapon, and stepped toward the perimeter edge to wave them back.
“Stay behind the curb!
This is an active crime scene!”
Within two minutes, the wail of sirens echoed down the avenue.
A marked patrol unit screeched to a halt beside the site, and Officer Drew Wu stepped out, accompanied by a wide-eyed probationary officer on his first week of field training.
Wu, a ten-year veteran of the precinct, took in the scene with practiced efficiency.
“Put up the barrier tape right now, rookie.
Secure both ends of the lane,” Wu ordered his partner before striding over to Nick.
His face was tense as he inspected Nick’s vest and duty belt.
“You hit, Burkhardt?”
“I’m clear, Wu.
He drew a revolver during the contact.
Opened fire first.”
Wu let out a quiet breath of relief, reaching out according to standard Officer-Involved Shooting (OIS) protocol.
“Alright.
Give me the sidearm, Nick.
Command staff and Internal Affairs are going to be here in ten minutes.”
As Nick unbuckled his holster harness to hand over the firearm for evidence retention, he glanced back at Coffey’s body lying silent in the weeds—now entirely human, leaving no physical trace of the monster that had stood there moments before.