The one retrieved from The Void

"Team Charlie confirms visual on the objective," a voice announced.

"Team Bravo confirms, target alone," came the next report.

Then, the sharp crackle of gunfire erupted through the transmission.

Although Jacob and his teammates couldn't see what was happening, the cacophony of gunfire and explosions painted a vivid picture of the fierce battle unfolding beyond the concrete walls.

"Do you guys think everything will be okay?" Tessa asked, her voice laced with apprehension. Her red hair seemed to glow in the dim light of the underground bunker.

Lynn, the more level-headed of the two, responded calmly, "I hope so. But something feels off." Her gaze flickered to Jacob, who stood with his arms crossed, a contemplative look on his face.

"I know what you mean," Jacob replied, his voice low. "I've had a bad feeling about this mission since morning." He paused, his eyes scanning the room. "We need to be ready for anything."

Tessa's impatience flared. "Of course, we're ready! We're soldiers, not scaredy-cats." Her temper was a well-known trait, but the intensity of the situation seemed to amplify it.

Lynn placed a restraining hand on Tessa's arm. "Calm down. We don't know what's happening out there yet."

The tension in the room was palpable. The three of them were a mismatched trio, thrown together by circumstance. Tessa was the fiery spirit, Lynn the steady hand, and Jacob the enigmatic newcomer. Their differences were apparent, but their shared mission bound them together, for now.

As the distant sounds of battle began to subside, a collective breath was held. Had the fighting ended?

A cold dread crept into Jacob's gut as the constant stream of data from Team Charlie abruptly ceased. His heart pounded a staccato rhythm against his ribs.

Kira's brow furrowed as she tried to reestablish contact. "Team Charlie, this is Command. Respond," she said, her voice steady, but her grip on the comm device tightened. A minute passed, then two, and silence stretched like a taut wire. Her expression turned grave.

"We've lost contact with Charlie," she said, her voice low. Al's fingers flew across the console, his eyes wide with concern. "Drones are offline," he reported, his voice barely a whisper.

A heavy silence fell over the room. The implications of their situation were sinking in. No communication with Charlie. No drone surveillance. Desperation edged into Kira's voice as she barked out orders. "Bravo, report on Charlie's status immediately. Delta, check vital signs of Charlie and Alpha, Move to Charlie's last known location."

Al confirmed that the drones for those teams were also offline. The realization hit them like a physical blow: they were alone in the dark, with no idea what faced their comrades.

"We need to move fast," Kira said, her voice firm, though laced with worry. "Foxtrot, prepare for immediate deployment. We're going in blind."

Jacob, Tessa, and Lynn began to double-check their equipment, their movements tense and deliberate. Al stood abruptly, his eyes fixed on Kira. Their gazes held for a moment, a silent exchange that spoke volumes.

"Why are you getting up, Al?" Kira asked, her voice steady, though her heart pounded in her chest. She'd always admired Al's courage, but sending him into danger felt like tearing a piece of herself away.

"We can't send those kids in alone," Al replied, his voice firm. He moved closer to her, his eyes intense. "I know the risks, Kira. But I can't stand by and do nothing."

Kira felt a surge of gratitude and something more complex. She reached out and touched his arm briefly. "Be careful," she managed to say, her voice barely a whisper.

Al nodded, his gaze holding hers for a moment longer before turning to the team. "Foxtrot, you'll follow my orders. Your mission is to confirm the status of the other teams and report back. Do not engage hostiles. Understood?"

"Understood," Jacob, Tessa, and Lynn responded in unison.

As Al turned to leave, Kira's eyes followed him.

"Officer Alphonse," Jacob addressed the man now in charge. "In what order are we going to proceed?"

"Delta should be the closest, so we'll check on them first," Al replied.

The green tent was a perfect mimicry of its surroundings, almost disappearing into the lush undergrowth. Its exterior showed no signs of disturbance, suggesting a hasty departure rather than a violent encounter. But as they pushed aside the camouflage netting and stepped inside, the illusion of safety shattered.

The interior was a grotesque parody of order. Everything was precisely in place, an eerie tableau of normalcy. No overturned furniture, no shattered equipment, no discarded items hinted at a desperate struggle. The supplies, neatly arranged as if awaiting their next use, mocked their absence. It was a sterile, antiseptic emptiness, a void where life should have been. A cold dread crept into them as they realized the horrifying implication: the occupants hadn't fled; they hadn't fought. They had simply... disappeared.

After that, they proceeded in silence to Alpha position, their designated perimeter. As with Delta, there was no sign of disturbance, but the site was eerily devoid of human presence. Bravo yielded the same result.

Meanwhile, at command, Kira was receiving the reports, her anxiety mounting with each update.

"We're heading to Charlie's location," Al informed her.

The outskirts of Charlie were cloaked in an unnatural stillness. Their footsteps seemed to echo in the void as they crept closer, every sense on high alert.

Once they got inside, the sight that greeted them was a grotesque parody of a macabre art gallery. The statues, once lifeless forms of clay and stone, were now macabre masterpieces, their vacant eyes staring back with an unsettling emptiness. The remains of their comrades were incorporated into the sculptures, each body part meticulously placed to complete a grotesque form. The scene was a horrifying tableau, beyond words.

The air was thick with the stench of blood, a sickly sweet smell that clung to the air like a shroud. The only sound was the distant echo of their own ragged breathing, punctuated by the occasional creak of crumbling stone. The walls were adorned with crudely carved symbols, their meaning lost to time. The floor was littered with the shattered remnants of their comrades' equipment, a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded within these walls.

As they ventured deeper into the ruins, the air grew colder, and the darkness seemed to close in around them. The statues seemed to watch them with cold, unblinking eyes, their grotesque forms twisting and contorting in the dim light. The air was thick with the stench of decay, a sickly sweet smell that clung to the air like a shroud. The only sound was the distant echo of their own ragged breathing, punctuated by the occasional creak of crumbling stone. The walls were adorned with crudely carved symbols, their meaning lost to time. The floor was littered with the shattered remnants of their comrades' equipment, a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded within these walls.

A sense of dread washed over them as they realized the full horror of the situation. Their comrades had not simply vanished; they had been transformed into something monstrous, their bodies twisted and contorted into grotesque forms of art. The realization was a bitter pill to swallow.

In that moment, the sound of footsteps echoed through the silent hall, a haunting reminder of the presence lurking within. Emerging from the shadows was a figure, naked and gaunt, walking with a deliberate, unsettling grace towards another statue. The figure clutched an object in its bony hands—a head, its eyes wide with a terror forever frozen in time.

The figure was emaciated, its skeletal frame barely covered by pallid skin that seemed to cling desperately to its bones. Each step it took revealed the sharp angles of its ribs and joints, creating an eerie silhouette against the dim light. This being, which resembled a man, was completely devoid of hair, its scalp smooth and gleaming with a sickly sheen. The absence of any hair on its body only added to its grotesque appearance.

But it was the face that truly struck terror into the hearts of those who dared to look. The figure's lips were pulled back into a wide, unnatural grin, revealing teeth that were too many and too sharp. The smile never wavered, fixed in a horrifying expression of perpetual glee that seemed utterly devoid of humanity. Its eyes, sunken deep into their sockets, glimmered with a mad, unblinking stare that promised unspeakable horrors.

As it approached the statue, the figure's head tilted slightly, as if listening to some unseen whisper or relishing an unspoken secret. The head it carried swung gently in its grasp, a macabre pendulum in the nightmarish scene. Each step brought with it a quiet, rhythmic tapping, the sound of bones lightly knocking against each other, adding to the unnerving ambiance.

The figure stopped in front of the statue, raising the severed head to eye level, its smile stretching impossibly wider. It seemed to commune with the inanimate stone, as if sharing a dark, eldritch joke only it could understand. The air grew colder, the shadows deeper, as the figure's presence filled the hall with an overwhelming sense of dread and despair.

Everyone was quite sacred while looking at him something that was increased due to the fact that the original suspect looked nothing like the man In front of them carrying that severed head.

"Stop!" Al roared, his voice echoing in the cavernous hall. He raised the rifle, its cold metal a stark contrast to the unnatural warmth emanating from the creature before them. The figure, its skeletal frame barely concealed by taut, pallid skin, turned slowly, its lips stretching into an inhuman grin.