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Rachel approached the pod with measured steps, her shoes crunching against loose gravel until she made her way into the tall grass. Something about the device seemed wrong, beyond its alien presence in these woods. The shape was similar to the EndLight pods she'd researched during her illness, but subtle differences nagged at her trained eye. The pristine white she remembered from promotional materials had been replaced by an off-white that bordered on ivory, as if someone had attempted to match the original but couldn't quite get the shade right. The material itself seemed different, too, but she couldn’t be certain.

"Notice anything?" Novak asked, circling to the other side.

"The logo's missing, for starters," Rachel said, running her gloved hand along the smooth surface. "EndLight puts their branding everywhere—it's part of their whole 'dignity in death' marketing. If I recall, their logo was on the front end of it, as well as at the bottom of the hatch…or door, or whatever you want to call it. But I don’t see it anywhere.”

“Proof that Anderson was right,” Novak said. “This one looks to be a knock-off.”

Now standing close to it, Rachel found that a good deal of her fear was gone. She reached out and touched it. The pod's surface felt cool beneath her touch, its curved lines resembling something between a medical device and a coffin. Rachel pushed away the thought of how many desperate people might have sought out the real versions of these machines, looking for peace in their final moments. And for it to be out here, very much misplaced, it felt almost like a disgrace to those people.

"We need to see inside," Novak said, pulling her back to the present. His fingers traced the seam where the lid met the base. "There has to be a mechanism somewhere."

Rachel looked at both ends and saw nothing. And there was no handle or latch of any kind on the hatch. She knelt down, examining the bottom edge. A thin depression ran along the base, almost invisible unless you knew to look for it. "Here," she said, pressing gently with her hand even though she was pretty sure it was intended to be pressed by a foot.

The lid rose with a pneumatic hiss, hydraulic arms lifting it smoothly. The sound echoed through the silent forest, making the hair on Rachel's stand on end. As the pod opened fully, the interior came into view: a padded surface meant to cradle a body, simple controls mounted on the inner wall. No screens, no medical monitoring equipment—just an On/Off switch and what appeared to be an emergency release button. But that particular button was damaged.

"This is wrong," Rachel muttered, leaning in closer. "The real pods have extensive monitoring systems, backup power, emergency protocols..." She pointed to the damaged release button. "Look at this—someone deliberately sabotaged it. Once the lid closes, there's no way out."

Novak's jaw tightened. "Turning it into a trap." He scratched at his chin and sighed. “Any idea how these things are supposed to work?”

She knew he meant nothing by it…that he was only asking her because he knew that she had at least a bit of knowledge on the machines. “The ones I had read about would have the occupant push that button…and that would start an instant decrease of oxygen. As the oxygen levels decrease rapidly, the interior would keep a low level of carbon dioxide. As the nitrogen is pumped in while the oxygen level gets very low…well, that’s about it. You lose consciousness and you die.”

“No pain at all?”

“None. I think you may get a little dizzy…sort of light-headed. But that’s it.”

“Damn,” Novak said, starting at the pod. “That does sound rather peaceful.”

Rachel stepped back, surveying the area around the pod. Drag marks scarred the earth, telling a story of desperate resistance. She could almost see it playing out: Sandra Mitchell, fighting against her attacker, her heels cutting furrows into the soil as she was forced toward the waiting pod. The thought made her stomach turn. She wondered why Sandra had been here at all…and what had prompted her to get out of the car.

Maybe seeing this strange object just chilling out in the forest, she thought.

"Officer," she called out to the guard still standing by his cruiser. "The local detectives—what did they find in terms of tracks?"

The officer ambled over, his weathered face grave. Rachel looked to the patch over his left breast and saw that his last named was Williamson. "Not much to speak of,” Williamson said. “Found clear tracks from the victim's Honda over there." He gestured toward where the gravel widened into a makeshift parking area. "But nothing else concrete. Whoever did this knew what they were doing."

“I take it the police moved the car?”

“Sure did. About two and a half hours ago.”

“And the body?”

“Oh, that was early this morning. Right after it was found by that kid on the dirt bike.”

Rachel nodded and looked back to the pod. She wondered how much it weighed…and how someone would get it out here without being seen. Under the cover of night almost certainly.

Rachel moved to examine the gravel area herself, Novak following close behind. The ground told a frustratingly incomplete story. Sandra's tire tracks were clear enough, but any others had been obscured—whether by time, weather, or deliberate action, she couldn't be sure.

"The killer had to have driven here," Novak said, voicing her thoughts. "No way they walked in carrying that pod."

“True,” Williamson said. “But the sheer number of little logging roads and trails that cut through these woods is crazy. If the guy knew these woods well enough, he would have found a way.”

"Which means they knew the area well enough to hide their approach." Rachel stood, brushing dirt from her knees. "This wasn't random. The location, the modified pod, the sabotaged release—everything about this was planned. It had to be to get that pod out here."

She walked back to the pod, its white surface now seeming less pristine and more predatory. The sun cast strange shadows through the trees that made the machine appear to shift and move when viewed from the corner of her eye. Rachel forced herself to look directly at it, to see it for what it was: evidence of a carefully orchestrated murder.

“Officer Williamson, I take it a full forensics sweep was performed?”

“Yes, ma’am. Anything you need in terms of evidence or forensics analysis, you can get from Detective Wheeler.” He plucked a business card from his front pants pocket and handed it over to her.

Rachel looked back to the pod once again. Novak sidled up beside her and said, “Here’s a terrible thought…but if someone can make this thing…what's to stop them from making more?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with implications. Rachel looked back at the pod, imagining others like it hidden throughout the area, waiting in remote locations for their victims. A killer who could turn a device meant for mercy into an instrument of torture—what else were they capable of?

Rachel straightened up, fighting back a shiver that had nothing to do with the morning chill. "We need to get ahead of this. If there are more out there, we need to find them. And if we find even one more of them before the killer is able to use it…maybe we find the killer, too.”

The forest seemed to close in around them at the thought, branches creaking in a sudden breeze. Rachel could feel the weight of what they'd discovered pressing down on her. She desperately wanted to think that this was a solo murder. But for someone to have created a replica of EndLight’s pods…it spoke of cruel intention. And why make just one if you knew how to do it? Why waste your sick talents on one when you could make several?

In her mind, she could hear Sandra Mitchell's final moments—the panic, the desperation, the realization that help wasn't coming. Rachel had faced death before, had made peace with it during her illness. But this... this was something else entirely. This was death perverted into a weapon, mercy twisted into malice.

Rachel took one last look at the pod before turning away. They had work to do, and somewhere out there, a killer was watching, waiting, perhaps already planning their next target.

“I want to speak to next of kin,” Rachel said. “In the files…there was a sister mentioned…”

Williamson spoke up, leaning against his patrol car. “That would be Claire Mitchell. Lives about half an hour away. Want her address?”

“Yes, that would be great,” Rachel said. “Thank you.”

As Williamson looked through his phone for the information, Rachel took in the wide expanse of the forest. On the way to this location, the soft fires coming to life in the autumnal trees had been comforting…almost welcoming. Now, they seemed more like poison. Now it seemed as if the very trees wanted to trap them here, pushing her and Novak toward the pod where there was no way out once they were closed in.