THE LAST EXORCIST OF LOS SANTOS.

Los Santos never sleeps. Not because of the lights, nor the endless traffic that crawls through its arteries like restless veins—but because something in the dark refuses to close its eyes. It watches. It listens. And sometimes… …it whispers. The call came just past midnight. Ethan Blake stood in the corner of a dimly lit room, the faint smell of stale cigarettes and something far worse clinging to the air. The apartment was small, suffocating—walls stained yellow with age, windows sealed shut as if afraid of what might slip in… or out. A man lay on the floor. Mid-thirties. Maybe older. Hard to tell. His body was rigid, trembling in uneven spasms. His fingers clawed weakly at the cracked tiles beneath him, nails scraping against the surface with a sound that set Ethan’s teeth on edge. But it wasn’t the movement that made the room feel wrong. It was the silence. No screams. No pleading. No voice at all. Just that faint, broken breathing… …and something else. “You sure about this, Father?” The voice came from behind him. Detective Marcus Hale leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his expression carved from equal parts exhaustion and disbelief. The badge clipped to his belt glinted under the flickering light, catching shadows that seemed to move when they shouldn’t. Ethan didn’t turn. “I’m not a father,” he replied quietly. “Not yet.” Hale let out a dry chuckle. “Right. Trainee priest.” He shook his head slightly. “Hell of a first assignment.” Ethan said nothing. Because he wasn’t looking at the detective. He was looking at the man on the floor. At first glance, nothing seemed unusual. No visible injuries. No signs of a struggle. Just another unfortunate soul caught in whatever nightmare Los Santos decided to offer tonight. But Ethan could feel it. A pressure. Subtle. Like standing too close to a speaker, the low vibration humming just beneath perception. And then… He heard it. …leave… The whisper slithered into his mind like a cold breath against his ear. Ethan’s fingers tightened slightly around the worn leather cover of the book in his hand. …you shouldn’t be here… He exhaled slowly. Not now. “Paramedics couldn’t figure it out,” Hale continued, his tone shifting, more serious now. “No drugs. No alcohol. No seizure history. Guy just… dropped.” He hesitated. “But before he went down, neighbors said he was talking to someone.” Ethan finally spoke. “There’s no one else here.” Hale glanced around the room, frowning. “Yeah. That’s what makes it weird.” …liar… Ethan closed his eyes for a brief moment. The voice was clearer now. Closer. He stepped forward. Each movement felt heavier than it should, as if the air itself resisted him. The closer he got to the man, the stronger that unseen pressure became, pressing against his chest, crawling beneath his skin. The man’s head twitched. Just slightly. Enough. Ethan knelt beside him. Up close, the details became impossible to ignore. The man’s lips were dry, cracked—moving ever so faintly, as if trying to form words that refused to come out. His skin was cold, far colder than it should have been. And his eyes— Slowly… They rolled upward. Until they met Ethan’s gaze. For a moment, everything stopped. The world. The sound. Even the air. Because those eyes… weren’t his. There was something behind them. Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Something real. Something alive. Looking back. And then— It smiled. Ethan inhaled sharply, his composure cracking for just a fraction of a second. Behind him, Hale shifted. “What? What is it?” Ethan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the thing inside the man had started to move. The body convulsed violently, spine arching off the ground in a way no human body should. A guttural sound tore from his throat—not a scream, not a cry, but something deeper. Something wrong. Something layered. As if more than one voice tried to speak through a single mouth. “Okay—yeah, I’m officially calling this not normal,” Hale muttered, pushing himself off the wall. “You got about ten seconds to tell me what the hell we’re dealing with—” “Stay back.” Ethan’s voice cut through the room—calm, firm, absolute. Hale froze. There was something in that tone. Something that didn’t belong to a trainee. Ethan opened the book. The pages were worn, edges frayed from years of use. Latin text lined each page, ink faded but intact. His thumb brushed lightly against the margin as he flipped to a marked section. His other hand reached into his coat. A small vial. Clear liquid. The man on the floor began to laugh. It started low. Broken. But quickly twisted into something else. Something mocking. Something… aware. “You think that will help you?” The voice that came out of the man’s mouth was not his own. It was deeper. Colder. And filled with amusement. Hale took an involuntary step back. “Yeah, no. Nope. I’m done pretending this is explainable.” Ethan ignored him. “Be silent,” Ethan said quietly. The laughter stopped. Instantly. For a brief second… There was nothing. Then the man’s head snapped to the side, eyes still locked onto Ethan. “You can hear me,” the thing whispered. Ethan’s grip tightened. “Yes,” he said. A pause. Then— A wider smile. “Oh… this is going to be fun.” The temperature in the room dropped. Noticeably. Hale exhaled, watching his breath fog faintly in the air. “That’s… not normal either, right?” “No,” Ethan replied. “It’s not.” The body jerked again, more violently this time. Bones cracked. Audibly. The man’s limbs twisted at unnatural angles, joints bending where they shouldn’t. His fingers curled inward, nails digging into his own flesh as dark veins began to surface beneath his skin—spreading, pulsing, like something alive beneath it. Ethan raised the vial. Holy water. He hesitated. Just for a second. …you remember this feeling… don’t you… The whisper returned. Not from the man. From somewhere deeper. Closer. Ethan’s jaw tightened. “No,” he murmured under his breath. And then he acted. The water struck the man’s skin— And the room exploded into sound. A scream tore through the air, raw and inhuman, layered with multiple voices overlapping into something that made Hale stagger back, hands flying to his ears. Smoke rose from where the liquid touched flesh. Burning. Sizzling. The man’s body arched violently, mouth opening far too wide—jaw stretching beyond its natural limit as something dark seemed to move within the throat. “IN THE NAME OF—” Ethan’s voice cut through the chaos, words flowing in Latin, steady despite the madness unfolding before him. The entity laughed again. Even as it burned. “Do you really think… you can cast me out?” Ethan didn’t stop. The words came faster now, sharper, each syllable carrying weight. The air itself seemed to react, shifting, pressing inward as if the room had become too small to contain what was happening inside it. The man’s eyes rolled back— Then snapped forward again. And for a moment… They were clear. “Help me—” The voice was weak. Human. Ethan faltered. Just for a fraction of a second. And that was all it needed. The man’s body slammed against him with impossible force, sending Ethan crashing backward into the wall. The book slipped from his hand, skidding across the floor. Hale swore, reaching instinctively for his gun before stopping himself, uncertainty freezing him in place. “Ethan!” The thing wearing the man’s body rose slowly to its feet. Movements stiff. Jerking. Wrong. Its head tilted. Studying him. “You’re not like the others,” it said softly. Ethan pushed himself up, breath unsteady. “…What are you?” A pause. Then— A whisper. Right inside his head. You already know. Pain lanced through Ethan’s skull. Images flashed— Darkness. Fire. Voices. So many voices. He staggered. And in that moment… He saw it. Not the man. Not the body. But the thing behind it. A shape. Tall. Twisted. Smiling. Watching him. “…No,” Ethan breathed. The thing laughed. “Yes.” The lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then everything went black. And in the darkness… Something whispered his name. “Ethan Blake…”. End Chapter 1.