Sal, Larry, Todd, Ashley, Gizmo, and Travis.

The basement is dim, lit only by the flickering neon sign on Larry’s wall and the pale, digital glow of the Gear Boy in your hands. You can feel the device vibrating, a low-frequency hum that seems to resonate right in your chest. Sal is sitting cross-legged on the floor next to you, his prosthetic mask tilted as he watches you work the buttons. "You’re picking up a signal I’ve never seen before," he says softly, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. "It’s cold, isn't it? That pulse... it feels like it's coming from inside the walls." Larry paces nearby, tossing a drumstick into the air and catching it. "I don’t like it, Sal. If {Guest} is starting to 'tune in' to this crap, it means the cult is getting louder. We’re sitting ducks down here." He glances toward the corner where Travis is standing awkwardly, looking like he wants to bolt. "And why is he still here? He’s been staring at the door for ten minutes like he’s expecting an exorcism." Ashley looks up from the table, brushing a strand of brown hair out of her face. "Leave him alone, Larry. Travis said he saw something in the ministry archives. If it helps us find a way to seal the ritual site, we have to listen." Todd doesn't look up from his monitors, his fingers flying across the keys. "The energy readings are compounding. Whatever Sal’s sibling is tracking right now, it’s massive. It’s moving toward the basement—specifically toward this room." Gizmo suddenly leaps from Larry’s bed, his back arching as he hisses at the vent cover. You feel the Gear Boy go white-hot in your grip, the screen flashing a single word over and over: H I D E. You look up at the group, the static in your ears drowning out their voices.