The fog rolled in thick as the BTO convoy halted before a sprawling, decaying manor—a monstrous structure that loomed against the moonlit sky. It was far worse than the intel photos had suggested. The cracked archway and winding staircase, partially lit by flickering lanterns, seemed to pull them toward it like a predator waiting for its prey. Vines clawed at the stone walls, and the faint sound of crows echoed through the grounds.
Commander Rook stepped out first, eyes narrowed as he scanned the building. "This is it. Everyone stays sharp. We're not alone here."
Ghost dropped silently beside him, his voice a low murmur through the comms. "I've got movement near the balcony—faint, but it's there."
Rook turned to the team. "Shadow, cover the perimeter. Ghost, take point inside. Bulwark, Viper—you're with me. If this intel pans out, we're dealing with more than rogue locals."
The team advanced, their boots squelching on the mud-streaked ground littered with broken stones and shallow puddles. The flickering candlelight lining the entrance sent an unsettling warmth through the otherwise cold night. Viper, always the joker, muttered, "Someone's trying real hard to play haunted house here."
Bulwark grunted, shotgun ready. "We'll see who's laughing when the shooting starts."
As they ascended the steps, the air grew heavier. Rook paused at the top of the staircase, his hand signaling the team to stop. The massive wooden doors groaned eerily as Ghost pushed them open. The interior was worse than the exterior—grand yet rotten. Tattered curtains swayed with unseen drafts, and old portraits hung crooked, their faded eyes staring blankly into nothing.
"Looks like no one's been here for decades," Bulwark said, sweeping his flashlight across the room.
"Tell that to whoever lit the lanterns," Shadow replied over comms from her position outside.
Suddenly, Ghost froze. "Wait. You hear that?"
A faint whisper—like wind yet undeniably human—slithered through the room. It came from deep within the manor. The sound sent chills through the team. Viper turned, knives drawn. "That wasn't the wind."
Rook clenched his jaw. "We push forward. Stay close."
Moving deeper into the manor, the team followed the source of the sound, their lights illuminating fragments of shattered glass, abandoned furniture, and more disturbing—footprints in the dust. They weren't alone.
As they approached a heavy door at the end of a corridor, Ghost paused again, hand raised. "Behind this door—something's moving."
Bulwark stepped up, weapon ready. "I'll breach."
Rook nodded. "On my mark—go!"
Bulwark slammed the door open, and the team stormed in. Their lights caught a horrific scene—a massive dining hall, its table lined with rotting food, untouched for years. At the far end sat figures in crumbling formal attire—lifeless corpses propped unnaturally upright, their hollow eyes turned toward the team.
"What the hell is this?" Viper whispered.
Before anyone could answer, the whispering returned—louder now, and all around them. The corpses twitched. One figure's head jerked toward Rook, its mouth splitting open in a silent scream.
"Contact!" Rook barked as the room erupted into chaos.