The silence on the top floor was no longer empty.
It was full.
Dense.
As if the air had turned into something heavy enough to touch, pressing down and watching over them.
The faceless figure stood in the middle of the room.
Not in a hurry.
Not unsteady.
As if the entire place had been created for it.
Richard Blackwood stepped forward one step.
Slowly.
Measured.
His eyes never left the figure.
"Whatever you think you are..." his voice was flat, "this is not your place."
The figure did not move.
But the air around it trembled slightly.
"Place... is determined by those who endure."
The words were not heard
but felt.
Entering their minds.
Echoing.
Leonard Graves let out a short breath.
"I don't like philosophy from something without a face."
He raised his weapon.
But did not shoot yet.
Waiting.
Assessing.
Daniel stood slightly behind, the device in his hand trembling.
The graphics on the screen were unstable.
Nonsensical.
