John and Ethan moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridor, the air thick with the stench of decay. Every step they took echoed ominously, as if the walls themselves were listening.
Ethan: "I really hate this place."
John: "Yeah? Well, I hate being locked in with whatever the hell is following us. Keep moving."
They reached a small security office, its door slightly ajar. John pushed it open, his shotgun raised. The room was in complete disarray—papers scattered across the floor, monitors cracked, and a pool of dried blood near a toppled chair.
Ethan: "Think we'll find the keycard in here?"
John: "If we're lucky. Start looking."
Ethan moved toward the desk, sifting through the mess, while John checked the lockers against the wall. He pried one open, finding nothing but an old uniform and a half-empty bottle of water.
Ethan: "Bingo."
John turned to see Ethan holding up a bloodstained keycard.
John: "Nice work. Let's get back before—"
A sudden, guttural growl interrupted him. Both men turned toward the hallway as the sound of heavy, dragging footsteps echoed closer.
Ethan: "Shit. We've got company."
John: "No time to fight. We run."
Ethan nodded, gripping the keycard tightly as they bolted out of the office, the sound of their pursuer closing in behind them. The race back to the locked door had begun.
John and Ethan sprinted down the darkened corridor, the guttural snarls of their pursuer growing louder behind them. The flickering lights above barely illuminated the decayed walls, casting long, shifting shadows that made everything feel even more claustrophobic.
Ethan: "Please tell me you remember the way back!"
John: "Left, then straight! Move!"
They turned sharply down another hallway, their boots slamming against the grimy floor. The creature behind them let out a deafening screech, its claws scraping against the walls as it gained on them.
John: "Faster, Winters!"
Ethan: "I'm *trying*!"
The locked security door came into view up ahead, its dull metallic surface the only thing between them and a moment of safety. Ethan fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the bloodstained keycard as they closed the distance.
John skidded to a halt in front of the door, immediately slamming his palm against the keycard panel. The red light blinked, then turned green with a soft *beep*.
John: "Go, go!"
Ethan pushed through first, John following close behind. As soon as they were inside, John threw his weight against the door, slamming it shut just as the creature crashed into it from the other side.
A sickening growl reverberated through the doorframe as the thing slammed against it again, the metal groaning under the force.
Ethan: "Tell me this door holds."
John: "Not sticking around to find out."
The corridor ahead of them was slightly wider, lined with rusted metal shelves and old industrial equipment. A faint light flickered at the far end, barely cutting through the thick darkness.
Ethan: "Alright, so what fresh hell do you think we just ran into?"
John exhaled, pumping his shotgun. "Let's find out."
With no other choice, they moved forward, deeper into the unknown.
John and Ethan moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridor, the tension between them thick. The only sound was their ragged breathing and the faint hum of flickering lights overhead. The walls were lined with rusted pipes, dripping with moisture, the air thick with the scent of mold and something metallic.
Ethan: "Alright… where the hell are we now?"
John: "Some kind of storage area, maybe a maintenance section. Either way, we keep moving."
Ethan let out a slow exhale, adjusting his grip on his axe. "You ever get the feeling we're just running in circles?"
John smirked, keeping his shotgun at the ready. "Yeah. Welcome to my life."
They passed by rows of old metal shelving units, some knocked over, others still standing but covered in layers of dust and grime. Broken crates and discarded tools littered the ground. Then, a sudden noise—a soft rustling from behind one of the shelves.
Both men froze.
John raised a hand, signaling for silence. Slowly, he stepped forward, weapon aimed at the source of the noise. Ethan followed close behind, gripping his axe tightly.
The rustling stopped.
John: "Come out, nice and slow."
Silence.
Then, in an instant, a hunched figure lunged out from the darkness.
John barely had time to react before the creature was on him, its gnarled hands clawing at his vest. He grunted, stumbling backward as Ethan swung his axe, the blade burying into the creature's side.
It shrieked, a horrible, wet sound, before twisting unnaturally and throwing Ethan to the ground. John took the opening, shoving his shotgun into its chest and pulling the trigger.
The blast echoed through the corridor, sending the creature flying back. It writhed for a moment before finally going still.
Ethan groaned, pushing himself up. "That… sucked."
John reloaded his shotgun, shaking his head. "And here I thought we'd get a break."
Ethan dusted himself off. "Breaks are overrated."
John: "Let's keep moving. That thing wasn't alone."
They pressed forward, the shadows ahead seeming darker than before, as if something unseen was waiting for them just beyond the light.
John and Ethan moved deeper into the storage area, their weapons at the ready. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and rust, and the faint buzz of distant insects made Ethan's skin crawl.
Ethan: "You ever get the feeling that something's watching us?"
John: "Only all the damn time. Keep your head on a swivel."
They passed by rows of overturned crates, the shadows stretching unnaturally under the flickering lights. The deeper they went, the more the walls seemed to decay, the wood warping with moisture and age.
Then, something shifted ahead of them.
John stopped abruptly, motioning for Ethan to hold his position. A slow, dragging noise echoed through the corridor, something heavy scraping against the floor.
Ethan whispered. "Tell me that's not Jack again."
John: "No... this is different."
The noise stopped. Silence hung in the air like a thick fog.
Then, a creaking sound—above them.
Both men looked up just in time to see something skitter across the wooden beams above, its limbs unnaturally elongated, moving with an almost insect-like grace. It was gone before they could get a good look at it, disappearing into the shadows.
Ethan: "Nope. Nope. I don't like that."
John exhaled sharply. "We need to move. Now."
They quickened their pace, navigating through the labyrinth of decayed wood and metal. The buzzing sound grew louder, and now there was something else—a faint, raspy breathing, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Ethan: "We're heading toward something bad, aren't we?"
John: "Feels that way. But there's no turning back now."
They reached a battered wooden door at the end of the corridor. John pressed a hand against it, feeling the dampness seeping through the wood. Something was moving on the other side.
Ethan gripped his axe. "Tell me you got a plan."
John cocked his shotgun. "Yeah. Don't die."
Ethan sighed. "Fantastic. Let's get this over with."
With one last glance at each other, they pushed the door open, stepping into the unknown.
John and Ethan moved cautiously through the decaying hallways, the buzzing of unseen insects growing louder with each step. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of rot and something foul lingering in their nostrils.
Ethan: "Alright, I gotta ask... Why the hell are you even here? I mean, I get why *I* came to this nightmare, but you? What's your deal?"
John glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "You really want to know, Winters?"
Ethan: "I think I deserve an answer, considering we're probably going to die together."
John let out a short chuckle before sighing. "Fair enough. I guess we got time before the next freak jumps us."
John kept walking, his voice lowering slightly. "I'm a hunter. Not the kind that goes after deer or rabbits. The kind that goes after things that shouldn't exist. Monsters, spirits, demons, yokai—you name it, I've probably put a bullet in it."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "So you're telling me that all that ghost story, demon crap is *real*?"
John: "You've seen what's been happening tonight, and you still doubt it?"
Ethan: "Fair point. So, how does one become a monster hunter? They got a job application or something?"
John smirked. "Not exactly. My family's got a military background. My father made sure I was trained for war before I could even ride a bike. But being a soldier wasn't enough for him. He wanted me to be *stronger*—to be the best. And for a long time, I thought I was. Until I was sent to Japan. That's when my real nightmare started."
Ethan: "Japan? What happened?"
John frowned, rubbing his temple. "I don't remember much. Three years of my life are just... gone. But I do remember one thing. A name. Osamu."
Ethan: "Osamu?"
John's jaw clenched. "He burned me alive, threw me off a canyon, broke damn near every bone in my body. I should've died. But I didn't. And when I woke up, I wasn't the same. Pieces of my past were missing, but my hatred for him? That stayed. And I knew one thing—I needed to get stronger. That's when I met Rufus Turner. He taught me how to hunt the things that go bump in the night. Showed me how to fight back. And after two years, I became one of the best. The Burned Man."
Ethan: "Damn… and here I thought my life took a turn for the worse."
John: "It's not a competition, Winters. You lost your wife, I lost my past. We both got screwed over in different ways."
Ethan nodded. "So… you think this whole mess with the Bakers is connected to what you hunt?"
John: "No doubt. Whatever's happening here ain't normal. I just need to figure out *what* we're dealing with."
Ethan: "Great. So we got a monster hunter and an IT guy trying to survive in a house of nightmares."
John smirked. "Hey, I'll take backup where I can get it. Now shut up and keep moving. Something tells me we're about to have company."
As they turned the corner, the buzzing sound of insects grew louder. The wooden walls appeared damp and warped, the air becoming thick and suffocating. The faint scent of rot clung to everything, making Ethan gag.
Ethan: "Okay… that's not normal."
John's grip on his shotgun tightened. "No, it's not. This kind of decay, the swarm of bugs, the stench—this isn't just some abandoned house. Something *else* is in here. Something unnatural."
Ethan wiped his forehead, already sweating from the unbearable humidity. "I don't know what's worse—the monsters or the damn heat."
John: "Doesn't matter. Either way, we need to be ready. Whatever's waiting for us… it's close."
John suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing as he noticed something on the ground—a small, black object partially buried under debris. He crouched, brushing off the dust to reveal a familiar sight.
John: "No way... my phone."
Ethan: "You had a phone this whole time?!"
John: "Must've fallen out when Jack threw me through the damn floor."
He pressed the power button. The screen was cracked, but to his surprise, it flickered to life. Low battery. No signal.
John: "Damn it. No service. But maybe..."
He tapped through his contacts, scrolling until he found the number he was looking for: General Allen Booker.
Ethan: "Who's that?"
John: "My father. If anyone can get us the hell out of here, it's him."
Ethan: "And what if he doesn't pick up?"
John smirked. "Then we're still in the same nightmare. But at least now we got a shot."
The screen flickered again, the call struggling to connect. Then, a voice—distant and crackling, but unmistakable.
General Booker: "John? That you, boy?"
John exhaled sharply. "Yeah, it's me. And I need a favor. A big one."
The connection wavered, static breaking up the call.
General Booker: "Where the hell are you? You drop off the map for years and—"
John: "No time for that, Dad! I need immediate backup. This place is crawling with... things."
Ethan: "You might wanna be more specific!"
John: "Look, I'll explain later. Just track this signal and get someone here fast."
The line crackled again. Then, his father's voice came through, more serious now.
General Booker: "Alright, son. Sit tight. I'll get a team on it. But you owe me one hell of an explanation."
The call dropped.
Ethan: "So… now what?"
John shoved the phone in his pocket. "Now we survive until help gets here. Let's move."
With a deep breath, they pressed forward into the darkened hallway, bracing for whatever horror awaited them next.
John pocketed his phone, his mind racing. If his father could actually send backup, then maybe—just maybe—they had a real shot at getting out of this nightmare alive. But until then, survival was still on them.
Ethan: "I hope your old man comes through fast. I don't wanna be bug food."
John: "Yeah, well, hope doesn't mean shit if we don't keep moving."
The buzzing sound of insects had grown louder, and the walls looked even more warped and damp. The wooden floor beneath them creaked with every step, like it was barely holding together. John kept his shotgun raised, scanning every dark corner for movement.
Ethan: "Okay, I gotta ask—why bugs? I mean, we've seen some messed up shit, but this whole place feels like it's crawling."
John: "Some supernatural creatures take on animal traits. The stronger ones? They don't just control nature—they become it. If whoever's behind this has that kind of power, we're dealing with something worse than just another mutated freak."
Ethan shuddered. "Great. Just when I thought this couldn't get any worse."
A loud skittering sound cut through the humid air, making both of them freeze. John turned his flashlight toward the ceiling, and his stomach twisted at what he saw.
A massive hive pulsed above them, twisted into the decaying wood. Swarms of insects buzzed around it, crawling in and out of the dark crevices. The entire structure seemed alive, the very walls breathing as if infected by something unnatural.
Ethan: "Yeah. No. Nope. Not doing this."
John: "We don't have a choice. Keep moving—slowly. Don't make any sudden moves."
They stepped forward, careful not to disturb the horde above them. The hallway stretched ahead, leading to an open archway covered in thick, pulsating webs. The smell of rot was stronger now, mixed with something earthy and rancid.
John: "We're walking into a nest."
Ethan: "Correction—we're walking into a trap."
Then, a voice echoed through the walls. Raspy, unnatural, almost a whisper carried by the swarm itself.
???: "I see you, little mice... sneakin' around where ya don't belong."
Ethan tensed. "Shit."
John tightened his grip on his shotgun, his eyes scanning the darkness. "Show yourself."
A sickening chittering sound filled the room, followed by a low, guttural laugh. Then, from the shadows beyond the webbed archway, something moved.
Long, spindly limbs. Distorted, unnatural. A figure that was once human, now stretched and twisted beyond recognition.
Marguerite Baker.
She stepped forward, her body twitching as insects crawled beneath her skin, her eyes sunken and filled with malice. Her voice dripped with venom as she grinned.
Marguerite: "Y'all ain't gettin' away. You're part of the family now."
John raised his shotgun. "Over my dead body."
Marguerite's grin widened, her jaw distorting as something inside her shifted. The entire nest above them lurched, and the buzzing turned deafening.
Ethan: "Oh, shit—RUN!"
The fight had begun.
John and Ethan barely had time to react before the hive above them *burst* open, releasing a swarm of insects that filled the air with a deafening buzz. The creatures rushed toward them, a wave of chitinous bodies and beating wings.
John: "MOVE!"
Ethan and John sprinted down the rotting hallway, swatting at the bugs as they crawled over their arms and faces. John fired his shotgun blindly into the swarm, the blast sending blackened husks splattering against the walls, but it barely thinned their numbers.
Ethan: "Shooting isn't working!"
John: "Then we need fire! Find something to burn this place down!"
A screeching laugh echoed behind them. Marguerite moved with unnatural speed, her grotesque limbs scuttling along the walls as if she were part of the hive itself. Her elongated fingers twitched as she commanded the insects to chase them.
Marguerite: "Ain't no runnin', boys! You're already in mah web!"
John kicked open a half-rotted door, pushing Ethan inside. The room was filled with overturned furniture and rusted farming tools, but in the corner sat an old flamethrower prototype, partially assembled.
Ethan: "That'll do! Cover me!"
John spun on his heel, unloading another shell into the doorway as Marguerite's clawed hand reached inside. She let out an inhuman shriek and recoiled for a moment, but the bugs kept swarming.
John: "Work faster!"
Ethan scrambled to put the weapon together, his hands fumbling with the canister. "Come on, come on—"
The buzzing intensified. Marguerite's distorted form squeezed halfway into the room, her body stretching and contorting in unnatural ways.
Marguerite: "Yer gonna be part of mah hive soon enough!"
John grabbed a nearby sickle from the wall and *swung* with all his strength, slicing deep into her arm. Blackened, pus-like blood spilled onto the floor as Marguerite let out another enraged scream and pulled back.
Ethan: "It's done!"
He raised the flamethrower and *pulled the trigger*. A burst of fire erupted forward, engulfing the doorway in a wall of flames. The bugs screeched as they were incinerated, their tiny bodies popping in the intense heat.
Marguerite howled in agony, her form twisting as she scurried back into the darkness, the fire licking at her retreating limbs.
Ethan: "Yeah! Burn, you freaky spider-bitch!"
John grabbed Ethan's shoulder. "We're not done yet. We need to torch the hive and make sure she stays dead."
Ethan nodded, gripping the flamethrower tighter. "Then let's finish this."
They stepped back into the hallway, the nest above still pulsating with life. Marguerite's laughter echoed in the distance, but there was something else now—a sense of desperation.
John smirked. "Guess she doesn't like fire. Let's turn up the heat."
With that, Ethan aimed the flamethrower at the hive and let the flames consume it.
As the flames consumed the hive, the walls trembled with the dying shrieks of the insects. Smoke filled the air, and the buzzing finally began to fade. John and Ethan stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, watching as the last of Marguerite's twisted nest burned away.
Ethan: "Tell me that was enough."
John reloaded his shotgun, still on edge. "Doubt it. But at least we bought ourselves some time."
A sudden ringing cut through the silence, making both men flinch. Ethan turned toward the sound, spotting an old rotary phone sitting on a dust-covered desk in the corner of the room.
Ethan: "You wanna take this one?"
John sighed and walked over, lifting the receiver. "Yeah?"
A woman's voice came through, calm but urgent. "You two still alive?"
John narrowed his eyes. "Zoe? That you?"
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Who the hell is Zoe?"
Zoe: "Name's Zoe Baker. And if you wanna get outta here in one piece, you better listen up."
Ethan: "Wait—Baker? As in *Jack Baker*?"
John clenched his jaw. "Yeah, she's his daughter. But she ain't like the rest of them. If she's calling, it means she's got something important to say. Go on, Zoe. We're listening."
Zoe: "Y'all are fightin' the wrong way—shootin' and burnin' ain't gonna fix this. You need the serum."
Ethan exchanged a confused glance with John. "Serum? What serum?"
Zoe: "It's the only thing that'll cure what's been done to them. You wanna stop this nightmare? You need to find it. And fast."
Ethan: "Alright. Where do we start?"
Zoe hesitated. "You need to get to the greenhouse. That's where she'll be hidin' now. But be careful. She ain't dead yet. And she's pissed."
John gripped the receiver tighter. "We can handle it."
Zoe: "I hope so. 'Cause if you don't, none of us are gettin' outta here alive."
The line went dead.
Ethan exhaled sharply. "Greenhouse, huh? Guess we're not done with her yet."
John cracked his neck, checking his ammo. "Then let's finish what we started."
With renewed determination, the two turned toward the door, ready to face whatever horror awaited them next.
John and Ethan stepped out of the burned-out hive room, the scent of scorched wood and lingering rot still thick in the air. The hallway leading to the greenhouse was even more twisted than before—warped planks, writhing roots breaking through the walls, and the ever-present sound of distant chittering.
Ethan: "I hate this place. I really do."
John: "Not much of a fan myself. But we've got a job to do."
The two pressed forward, following a narrow wooden walkway that creaked with every step. The greenhouse loomed ahead, its glass panels cracked and covered in grime, vines coiling around the structure like it had been consumed by the swamp itself.
John: "Zoe wasn't kidding. If Marguerite's in there, she's dug in deep."
Ethan adjusted his grip on the flamethrower. "Then let's smoke her out."
As they reached the greenhouse door, a sudden skittering movement made them freeze. John barely had time to react before a swarm of insects burst from the cracks, crawling over the walls like living shadows.
Ethan: "Nope, nope, *nope*!"
John pulled out a lighter fluid canister from his belt and tossed it into the swarm. "Light 'em up!"
Ethan didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger on the flamethrower, sending a jet of fire into the writhing mass of insects. The swarm screeched, burning away in a wave of popping exoskeletons and ash.
John: "That'll clear the way."
Ethan exhaled. "Tell me again why you do this for a living?"
John smirked. "You get used to it."
The two pushed open the greenhouse door, stepping into an overgrown nightmare. The air was thick with humidity, the walls pulsing with sickly green mold. Strange, bulbous growths clung to the ceiling, dripping with some kind of foul-smelling liquid. The buzzing of unseen insects was constant, surrounding them like an unseen threat.
Ethan: "I swear to God, if she jumps out at us—"
A deep, guttural laugh echoed from the shadows.
Marguerite: "Ain't no use hidin', boys. Y'all already mine."
John raised his shotgun. "Show yourself, you twisted bitch."
The walls seemed to *breathe*, and from the darkness, Marguerite lunged, her body now fully transformed—elongated limbs, an insectoid abdomen, her face stretched into a grotesque grin.
Marguerite: "Time to *feast*!"
John and Ethan barely had time to react before the fight began.
Marguerite lunged with unnatural speed, her elongated limbs stretching far beyond human capability. Ethan and John barely had time to dive out of the way as her clawed hands slammed into the wooden floor, sending splinters flying.
John: "You weren't kidding about her not being dead!"
Ethan rolled to the side, raising the flamethrower. "Burn, you freak!"
He pulled the trigger, sending a stream of fire straight at Marguerite's grotesque form. The flames engulfed her, but instead of screaming in pain, she let out a shrill laugh, her body twisting as the flames licked at her insect-like abdomen.
Marguerite: "Y'all ain't got what it takes to put me down!"
John raised his shotgun and fired, aiming for her center mass. The blast tore through her, sending a spray of thick, blackened blood against the greenhouse walls. Marguerite screeched, her body recoiling, but she wasn't finished.
Ethan: "We need to keep hitting her!"
John: "No shit!"
Marguerite suddenly scuttled up the walls, her limbs digging into the rotting wood with ease. The greenhouse shook as she moved, sending shards of glass raining down from above.
Ethan shielded his face. "Great! Now she's got the high ground!"
John reloaded his shotgun. "We take out the supports—bring her down!"
Ethan nodded and turned his flamethrower towards the rotting beams holding up the greenhouse ceiling. He unleashed another blast, setting the structure alight. Marguerite shrieked as the flames licked at her hiding spots, forcing her to move erratically.
John took the opening and fired again, this time aiming for one of her massive, pulsating growths. The explosion of black bile sent her reeling, her screeches turning desperate.
Marguerite: "No! No, I won't let y'all leave!"
The ceiling began to collapse, sending fiery debris crashing down around them. As John turned to run, his foot knocked against an old metal box, half-buried under debris. He instinctively grabbed it and slung it under his arm as he ran.
John grabbed Ethan by the arm. "Time to go!"
Ethan hesitated for only a second before turning and sprinting toward the exit with John. Behind them, Marguerite let out one final, ear-piercing wail as the burning greenhouse caved in, swallowing her twisted form beneath the rubble.
They burst through the door and stumbled into the cool night air, gasping for breath.
Ethan: "Please tell me that was enough."
John wiped sweat from his brow, watching as the last of the flames consumed the greenhouse. "If not… then we're really screwed."
The two men stood in silence, listening for any sound of movement from the wreckage. Nothing.
Ethan let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah… I think we got her."
John nodded, reloading his shotgun. As he did, he finally glanced at the metal box he had grabbed in the escape. He popped it open, and his eyes widened slightly.
John: "Well, would you look at that. Dragon's Breath shells."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Dragon's what now?"
John smirked, loading the incendiary rounds into his shotgun. "Let's just say the next thing that tries to jump us is gonna *really* feel the burn."
As they turned to leave, a familiar sound rang through the air—the buzzing of a nearby phone.
John and Ethan turned toward the buzzing sound, the adrenaline still pumping through their veins. The phone sat on a small wooden table inside a dimly lit shack near the greenhouse. It was old, its rotary dial covered in a thin layer of dust, yet somehow it still worked.
Ethan: "You want to get that, or should I?"
John sighed, stepping forward. "I got it."
He lifted the receiver, bringing it to his ear. "Yeah?"
Zoe's voice came through, urgent but steady. "Good, y'all made it out. You got her, right?"
John glanced back at the burning ruins of the greenhouse. "She won't be crawling outta there anytime soon."
Zoe: "Good. That's one less problem. But don't think you can rest just yet. You still need the serum. You're gonna have to head deeper into the property. Lucas ain't gonna make it easy for you."
Ethan frowned. "Lucas? Who the hell is Lucas?"
John: "Jack's son. Twisted little bastard, from what I've heard."
Zoe: "That's right. He's different from the others. He's smart—real smart. Loves his traps and games. He'll know you're coming. Be ready."
Ethan exhaled. "Great. More psychos. Can't wait."
John: "Yeah, well, at least this one bleeds like the rest of 'em."
Zoe hesitated on the other end. "One more thing… y'all need to find my father's trailer. There's something there that might help."
John: "Might?"
Zoe: "It's better than nothing, ain't it?"
John grunted. "Fair enough."
Zoe: "Stay alive, boys. You're gonna need each other."
The line went dead.
John set the receiver back down and turned to Ethan. "Looks like we got our next stop."
John and Ethan stepped through the rotting wooden door, leaving the ruined greenhouse behind them. The night air was thick, humid, and heavy with the lingering scent of burnt flesh and chemicals. For a moment, they just stood there, catching their breath.
Ethan: "Jesus... please tell me that was the last time we see her."
John checked his shotgun, the Dragon's Breath shells loaded and ready. "Doubt it. If this place has taught me anything, it's that nothing stays dead."
Ethan sighed, rubbing his face. "Yeah, you've got a point. So, what now?"
John glanced around. "Zoe said we need the serum. And if I had to guess, Lucas isn't gonna make it easy for us."
Ethan scoffed. "Great. Another psychopath to deal with. Just what I needed."
As they started walking toward the Baker property again, the silence between them grew. The night was unnervingly still, the only sounds being the distant croaking of frogs and the occasional rustling of the wind through the trees.
Ethan cleared his throat. "So, uh... I never really asked. You got any family, John?"
John tensed slightly but didn't stop walking. "Yeah. I do."
Ethan waited for him to continue, but when he didn't, he pushed. "And?"
John sighed. "My old man, General Allen Booker. He's... well, let's just say we don't see eye to eye. He raised me and my brothers like soldiers, not kids. There was no room for mistakes, no room for weakness. He made sure we were strong, disciplined, and obedient. And when we weren't? We paid the price."
Ethan frowned. "Damn. That sounds rough."
John let out a dry chuckle. "That's one way to put it."
Ethan: "What about your brothers? You mentioned them before."
John nodded. "Arthur and Trevor. Arthur was the golden boy—always lived up to the Booker name, always followed orders. My father loved him for it. Trevor... well, he wasn't exactly the model soldier. He had a habit of pushing back, getting into trouble, and questioning authority. But he was damn good at what he did, and no matter how much of a headache he was, my father kept him in line."
Ethan: "And you? Where did you fit in?"
John exhaled. "Somewhere in between. I was damn good at what I did, but I questioned orders. That didn't sit well with my father. I got into trouble once—punished an officer who almost got my squad killed. It didn't go over well with the higher-ups. My father stepped in, pulled some strings to keep me from facing harsher punishment. Instead of being discharged, I was sent to Japan. It was meant to keep me out of trouble, give me a fresh start."
Ethan studied him for a moment. "And then everything went to hell."
John nodded. "Yeah. I thought I was just there to train soldiers. But I ended up in something way worse than I could've imagined. And when I came back… I wasn't the same."
Ethan: "You talk to them at all? Your brothers?"
John shook his head. "Arthur and Trevor are still in the military. Probably still following orders, doing what my father expects of them. We don't talk much anymore."
Ethan: "Sounds complicated."
John: "Yeah, family usually is."
Ethan smirked. "Tell me about it. My dad was a mechanic. Taught me how to fix just about anything with a motor. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep me out of trouble."
John glanced at him. "And yet here you are."
Ethan chuckled. "Yeah, well... love makes you do stupid things. I thought Mia needed me, and I walked right into this nightmare."
John was quiet for a moment. "At least you're here for someone. Me? I came looking for answers. Instead, I found this."
Ethan: "You really think this whole thing is connected to what you hunt?"
John nodded. "I know it is. Whatever's happening here... it's not just some experiment gone wrong. There's something *else* at work. I just need to figure out what."
Ethan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Well, here's hoping we live long enough to get those answers."
Before John could respond, a faint ringing echoed in the distance. They both turned toward the sound—a phone, coming from the trailer Zoe had mentioned.
John: "Guess we're about to get some more directions."
Ethan: "Yeah. Or another damn trap."
With their weapons raised, they approached the trailer, ready for whatever was waiting on the other end of that call.
John and Ethan stepped cautiously into the trailer, their eyes scanning the dimly lit interior. It was surprisingly clean compared to the rest of the property, but there was an eerie stillness to it. The phone sat on a small table in the corner, its old rotary dial spinning back into place as it rang.
John picked it up. "Yeah?"
Zoe: "Glad y'all made it this far. You're gonna need to keep that up if you wanna get outta here."
Ethan crossed his arms. "We're listening."
Zoe: "Lucas has the other half of the serum you need. But you ain't just gonna walk in and take it. He's been expectin' you. He's got traps, games... and he enjoys playin' with his prey."
John: "Figures. Where is he?"
Zoe hesitated. "The barn, past the testing area. But be careful—Lucas ain't like the others. He's smart, and he doesn't fight fair."
Ethan scoffed. "Yeah, we've noticed."
Zoe: "One more thing. You might find somethin' useful in the trailer. Check the chest under the bed."
John: "Got it."
The line clicked, and John set the receiver down. He turned to Ethan. "Let's see what we're working with."
Ethan knelt down, pulling open the chest Zoe mentioned. Inside was a modified M21 shotgun, a few boxes of shells, and a handwritten note.
Ethan read it aloud. "'You'll need all the firepower you can get. Trust me.' Well, at least she's looking out for us."
John picked up the shotgun, inspecting it. "This'll pack a punch. Take it. I'll stick with my 1911s."
Ethan grabbed the weapon and loaded it, nodding. "Alright. Let's go crash Lucas' little party."
John smirked. "Let's give him a reason to regret inviting us."
With their new firepower in hand, they stepped out of the trailer and into the darkness, ready for whatever twisted games Lucas had in store for them.
John and Ethan stepped out of the trailer, the cool night air doing little to ease the tension between them. The path ahead led toward the testing area, a section of the property Lucas had transformed into his personal deathtrap. The distant hum of generators and flickering floodlights cast eerie shadows across the dirt path.
Ethan: "So, any bright ideas on how we handle this?"
John checked his gear, ensuring his pistols and shotgun were loaded. "Yeah. Don't play by his rules. Lucas thinks he's the smartest guy in the room. We make sure he's wrong."
Ethan smirked. "I like the sound of that."
The two approached a large metal door with a keypad on the side. John frowned. "He's gonna make us work for it."
Before they could do anything, the intercom crackled to life. Lucas' voice, smug and dripping with amusement, came through.
Lucas: "Well, well! Look who finally made it! Took ya long enough. Thought you might've chickened out after seein' what happened to dear ol' Marguerite."
Ethan: "We're here for the serum, Lucas."
Lucas chuckled. "Oh, you'll get it… if you can make it through. But let's make it fun, huh? I got a little game for y'all. Hope you're ready."
With a loud *clank*, the door unlocked and slowly creaked open. Inside, flickering lights revealed a narrow hallway lined with exposed wires and rusted metal plating.
John exchanged a glance with Ethan. "Stay sharp."
Ethan nodded. "Let's get this over with."
Together, they stepped inside, bracing themselves for whatever twisted traps Lucas had waiting for them.
As John and Ethan moved through the dimly lit corridor of Lucas' twisted deathtrap, a sudden, sharp pain shot through John's skull. He staggered, clutching his head as flashes of memory overwhelmed his senses.
The air was different. The scent of rain mixed with cigarette smoke. Laughter echoed in the night, and the neon glow of Tokyo flickered in his vision. He was surrounded by faces—Kazuki, Toshizo, Kiyoko—his old squad. His uncle's stern gaze, always watching, always judging. The sound of boots striking pavement as he trained his platoon. His cousin—his longtime rival, the one he always tormented, the one who always fought back.
And then, Onizuka—his new friend. A wild, reckless bastard who didn't take anything too seriously, who made him laugh when he least expected it. The nights in the bar, the street fights, the way Onizuka had looked at him like he wasn't just another soldier, but a person worth knowing.
John: "Ngh..."
Ethan: "John? Hey, you alright?"
John clenched his teeth, a deep throbbing in his skull intensifying. The memories blurred—his time in Japan, the relentless training, the nights of drinking, the camaraderie. Then fire. A battlefield. Shadows moving through the night. The echoes of combat and the searing pain of betrayal. But no faces, no clear images—just raw emotion and suffering.
John: "No..."
The visions shattered as he gasped, stumbling against the rusted metal wall.
Ethan grabbed his shoulder. "John! Snap out of it! What the hell's wrong?"
John exhaled sharply, forcing himself to steady. The pain lingered, but the memories were slipping away again, just like before.
John: "I... I don't know. My head just—feels like it's being split open."
Ethan frowned. "This place messing with you? Or is it something else?"
John swallowed hard. "It's... old memories. Ones I forgot. Japan. My uncle. My cousin. My platoon. And Onizuka... my friend."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Wait. Who's Onizuka?"
John shook his head. "Not now. We have to keep moving."
Ethan studied him for a second before nodding. "Alright, but don't pass out on me. You look like you've seen a damn ghost."
John forced a smirk. "Wouldn't be the first time."
They pressed forward, John's head still throbbing as the flashes of his past faded back into the dark corners of his mind. But something was different now. The memories were returning, piece by piece. And he wasn't sure if he was ready for all of them.
John took a deep breath, shaking off the lingering pain in his head. The flashes of his past still echoed in his mind, but he forced himself to focus. Lucas was waiting, and they couldn't afford distractions.
Ethan: "You good?"
John: "Yeah. Let's just get through this."