I found this, which was apparently scribbled down earlier this year, part of a larger story-world of which I’ve posted bits on my writing blog on Wordpress. 

I don’t like this bit I’ve written (naturally) but I think I’m going to rework into something less awkward and clumsily-phrased, while throwing in a few new ideas I’ve had for the past couple of months. I’ve been to the Marina Bay area quite a bit since I wrote this.

“It shouldn’t have been built,” she said, hands in pockets, starting out at the tripartite building with the ark perched precariously on it. “It’s become a nexus. It’s distorting the arch-fabric.”
If you could put an overlay on top of the real world and see in frequencies no mortal eye could see the sight surrounding the ill-fated building would be equal parts horrifying and awe-inspiring. A vortex gaped over it like an open mouth, like a supermassive black hole, a seething, almost-breathing mass of nebulousness made in the mockery of clouds, blacker than ravensblood and night, pierced by flashes of light that resembled stars dying. 
Beneath this hellsgate sat a behemoth, perched on the building like a child on a tripodal stool, its massive wings looking like they could blanket the city from tip to tip.
“Could that be her?” he asked. “Horribly transformed and all that.”
“No.” Sylvia shook her head. “If the Guardians council says the MBS gone, she is gone. Whether this thing took her or latched on after she was gone, who knows. But she is gone.” She sighed in a cloud of cigarette smoke. “it’s taken lives already, and it’s not even targeting gamblers. Whatever this thing is, it’s hungry.”
“What is it?”
“Hell if I know.” Sylvia rubbed the bridge of her nose. “God I wish I knew.”