Task Force 141, KorTac, Los Vaqueros, Shadow Company

The Scottish Highlands were already disappearing beneath the darkness of evening.

Cold autumn rain swept across the mountains in thin, relentless sheets, carried by a sharp wind that bent the dead grass and shook the remaining leaves from the surrounding trees. The narrow road leading into the valley had long since stopped being maintained. Gravel gave way to mud, potholes, and patches of wet stone, forcing the convoy to slow as it climbed deeper into the wilderness.

There were no nearby towns. No streetlights. No houses. No signs of ordinary life. Only mountains, dark forests, and the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the landscape for a fraction of a second.

And somewhere ahead, hidden between the trees, stood Blackwood Psychiatric Hospital. For decades, the building had officially been abandoned. Nobody seemed to know exactly why.

The records surrounding its closure were incomplete. Some documents claimed that Blackwood had suffered a catastrophic electrical fire. Others mentioned structural damage, financial problems, and the gradual relocation of patients.

None of the explanations completely matched. The hospital had not simply been closed. It had been emptied. Quickly. Almost unnaturally quickly. Furniture remained inside. Patient belongings had been left behind. Old medical equipment still occupied some of the treatment rooms. Personal photographs, children's drawings, wheelchairs, medication bottles, and handwritten notes could supposedly still be found throughout the building.

And then there were the stories. Locals claimed that people had heard voices coming from the hospital long after it was abandoned. Some claimed to have seen lights moving behind the windows. Others spoke of footsteps following them through empty corridors. A few who had entered the building and returned insisted that the interior did not always seem to remain the same.

Doors appeared where there had been solid walls. Corridors seemed longer than they should have been. Rooms were occasionally found that did not appear on any architectural plans. And there was one particular story that had survived longer than all the others. The story of the fourth floor. Officially, Blackwood had three floors above ground. There was no fourth. No architectural documentation listed one. No elevator panel displayed one. No staircase led to one.

Yet locals occasionally whispered about people who had entered the hospital at night and later claimed they had somehow reached a floor that should not have existed. Most dismissed the story as folklore.

Until several years ago, when someone discovered an old technical document containing a handwritten reference: LEVEL 4 — RESTRICTED

The page disappeared shortly afterward. So did the man who had found it. For years, Blackwood remained nothing more than an abandoned hospital surrounded by rumors. Until recently.

---

The first warning came from an intelligence source. Someone had discovered evidence that Blackwood once housed military personnel suffering from severe psychological and neurological problems. Soldiers. Operators. People who had returned from missions changed in ways their superiors could not explain. Some suffered memory disturbances. Some experienced violent episodes. Some reported hearing voices. Some developed extreme insomnia or dissociative symptoms. Others simply stopped behaving like themselves.

Officially, Blackwood had provided psychiatric treatment. Unofficially... There were rumors that certain military patients had been subjected to procedures that had never been properly documented. Experimental medication. Sensory deprivation. Isolation. Unusual psychological testing. Observation protocols that went far beyond ordinary psychiatric care.

And somewhere inside the abandoned hospital, there were supposedly records proving what had actually happened. Most of the original documentation had disappeared. But not all of it.

Laswell had received information that fragments of the old Blackwood archives might still be inside the facility. Patient files. Military reports. Research notes. Names. Dates. Orders. Possibly even evidence that the program had continued long after it should have been shut down.

That alone would have been enough to send Task Force 141. But Blackwood had attracted attention from other people as well. And that was how four separate units found themselves heading toward the same abandoned hospital.

---

The first vehicle stopped outside the rusted gates. The emblem of Task Force 141 was barely visible beneath the mud.

Captain John Price stepped out first. His dark military coat was already wet from the rain, the brim of his boonie hat casting a shadow over his weathered face. His thick beard was speckled with rainwater, and his eyes immediately began scanning the surrounding tree line.

Price had the unmistakable presence of a man who had spent years commanding soldiers in places where mistakes got people killed. He didn't need to raise his voice to make himself heard. He simply looked at the others. "Stay sharp."

Behind him came Simon "Ghost" Riley. Tall, broad-shouldered, and almost completely concealed beneath black tactical gear, Ghost wore his familiar skull-mask. Only his eyes were visible beneath the mask, cold and watchful as they moved across the abandoned grounds. He said nothing. He rarely needed to.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish climbed out next. The Scottish sergeant adjusted the strap of his rifle and glanced toward the enormous silhouette of the hospital. His expression was somewhere between amusement and suspicion. "Christ." He looked at the building again. "That's cheerful."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick followed, London-born and noticeably more relaxed than the others despite the circumstances. He checked his weapon before looking toward Soap. "You were expecting a hotel?"

Soap gave him a sideways glance. "I was hoping for somewhere with central heating."

Gaz snorted. "Wrong bloody assignment."

{{user}} stepped out of the vehicle, gazing at the building.

A short distance away, another convoy arrived. KorTac. The first figures stepped from the vehicles, weapons ready. König towered over nearly everyone around him.

At over two meters tall, the Austrian operator was impossible to overlook. His hood concealed most of his face, while the visible portions of his skin showed old scars. His tired blue eyes moved slowly across the hospital grounds. He said nothing at first. He simply stared at the building.

Beside him, the other KorTac operators spread out, checking the perimeter. Nikto, Krueger and Horangi.

Then came another convoy. Los Vaqueros.

Alejandro Vargas stepped forward, recognizable immediately by his commanding posture and calm confidence. His dark hair and neatly maintained beard were soaked by the rain, but his attention remained fixed on the abandoned hospital.

Rodolfo Parra stayed close by, more restrained and analytical, his eyes moving between the building and the surrounding terrain.

Alejandro noticed the British operators. He stopped. Price looked back. For several seconds, neither man said anything.

They already knew each other. Not personally, perhaps not well enough to call each other friends, but enough to know exactly what the other group was capable of.

Soap muttered under his breath. "Of course."

Gaz looked at him. "What?"

"Nothing." Soap replied.

Then headlights appeared again through the rain.

A fourth group emerged from the darkness. Shadow Company. Their black tactical uniforms blended almost perfectly into the night. The operators moved with the confidence of people accustomed to working without explaining themselves. Their arrival immediately changed the atmosphere.

Ghost's eyes narrowed. Soap's hand rested closer to his weapon. Alejandro watched them without hiding his suspicion. König, Krueger, Nikto and Horangi remained completely still.

Price stepped forward. "Shadow Company."

The response came from their commander with little warmth. "141."

Soap gave a quiet laugh. "Lovely reunion."

Nobody laughed with him. For several moments, four different groups stood facing one another in front of Blackwood Psychiatric Hospital. Nobody trusted anyone. And all of them had come expecting to find the same thing: the missing Blackwood records.

Price was the first to break the silence. "Let's save ourselves the usual bullshit." His eyes moved from Alejandro to the KorTac operators and finally to Shadow Company. "We're all here for the same archive."

Alejandro's expression hardened slightly. "That's what we've been told."

Price nodded. "Then we've got a problem."

"Which is?" Alejandro asked.

Price looked toward the hospital. "Whatever is inside that building, none of us are leaving until we find it."

A Shadow Company operator gave a quiet scoff. "That's not cooperation."

"No," Price replied calmly. His eyes hardened. "It's necessity."

Silence. Rain continued to hammer the vehicles.

Finally, Alejandro nodded. "Temporary cooperation."

Price extended his hand. Alejandro looked at it for a moment before taking it. "Temporary."

The agreement was made. Reluctantly. Uneasily. But it was made. Four factions. One objective. One building. And absolutely no guarantee that whatever was waiting inside cared which side anyone belonged to.

---

The enormous gates of Blackwood stood open. Nobody remembered seeing them open when they arrived. That alone was enough to make Ghost look toward Price. Price noticed. Neither commented. The team moved forward. The closer they came, the larger the hospital became. Blackwood had once been an imposing stone institution. Now it looked like something that had been forgotten by the world.

The dark stone walls were covered with moss and creeping vines. Several windows were completely shattered, while others remained intact but so filthy that they reflected almost nothing. Parts of the roof had collapsed. The old hospital sign hung crooked above the entrance. Only a few letters remained visible. 'BLACK...' The main doors were enormous wooden structures reinforced with rusted metal. One of them stood slightly open.

Soap stared at it. "You've got to be kidding me."

Gaz glanced at him. "What?"

"The door." Soap replied.

"What about it?" Gaz asked.

Soap pointed. "Someone opened it."

Ghost's gaze shifted toward the entrance. "Or it never closed."

Soap looked at him. "That's somehow worse."

They entered.

---

The smell hit them first. Cold, damp stone. Mould. Old disinfectant. Something metallic. Something that reminded Price faintly of rust. The hospital lobby was enormous. A reception desk stood beneath a collapsed chandelier. Old chairs remained arranged against the walls.

A cracked clock hung above the reception area. Its hands had stopped at 2:17. Dust covered almost everything. Yet several footprints crossed the floor. Fresh. Not ancient. Fresh. Ghost crouched. He examined them. "Recent."

Everyone immediately raised their weapons.

Alejandro looked toward the dark corridors. "How recent?"

Ghost stood. "Hours."

The hospital suddenly seemed much larger. And much less empty.

They advanced deeper into the building. The corridors were long and narrow, lined with old patient rooms. Small observation windows were built into the doors. Some doors still carried faded numbers. Others had names scratched into the wood. A wheelchair stood abandoned beside one wall. Another rested several meters farther down the corridor. Nobody had touched either. The lights were dead. Only the beams of their tactical flashlights illuminated the darkness. Their footsteps echoed. Every sound seemed amplified. Every breath. Every movement of clothing. Every click of a weapon.

Soap's flashlight passed over an old children's drawing pinned to the wall. A crude house. A black sun. Several people standing outside. And one figure drawn beneath the ground. Soap stopped. "That's not creepy at all."

Gaz looked at the drawing. "Maybe the kid had a healthy imagination."

Soap glanced at him. "That's your definition of healthy?"

Gaz shrugged. "Depends on the kid."

König walked past them. His heavy boots echoed against the tiled floor. His voice came quietly through his mask. "Someone has been here recently."

Ghost looked at him. "How recent?"

König's blue eyes remained fixed on the darkness ahead. "Very."

Then... A sound.

Three slow footsteps. From somewhere deeper inside the hospital.

Everyone stopped. No one spoke. Another step. Then silence. Price raised his fist. The entire group froze. Ghost moved toward the corridor. Alejandro covered the opposite side. Shadow Company spread out. König raised his weapon. Nikto, Krueger, and Horangi were alert and listening.

Soap whispered: "Contact?"

Ghost shook his head. "Didn't see anyone."

Price listened. Nothing. Then the lights flickered. Once. Twice.

Every flashlight briefly seemed unnecessary. For less than a second, the corridor lights came alive. And in that brief illumination, they saw the entire hallway. Empty. No movement. No person. Nothing. The lights died again.

Soap slowly lowered his weapon. "Tell me someone else saw that."

Gaz answered quietly. "Unfortunately."

Ghost's gaze remained fixed on the darkness. "Keep moving."

---

They eventually reached the old administrative wing. Here the walls were covered with faded signs.

MEDICAL RECORDS

PATIENT ARCHIVES

MILITARY PSYCHIATRIC SERVICES

Price stopped. His eyes narrowed. "Military psychiatric services."

Alejandro stepped closer. "So the rumors were true." Price looked toward him. "Looks like it."

A heavy metal door stood at the end of the corridor. Unlike everything else in the hospital, it appeared recently reinforced. There was a keypad beside it. Modern. Powered. The display was still glowing faintly.

Ghost stared at it. "Someone's supplying this place with electricity."

Laswell had specifically told them the building had no active power.

Soap looked at Price. "That wasn't in the briefing."

Price's jaw tightened. "No."

A small electronic beep came from the keypad. Everyone turned. The screen changed. ACCESS DENIED.

Then...

ACCESS GRANTED.

The lock clicked. Nobody touched it. The door slowly opened by itself. Cold air rolled out from the darkness beyond. No one moved.

Then Ghost spoke. "Price. I saw it. Someone opened that."

Price stared into the dark room. "Yeah." His voice became quieter. "Let's find out who."

The room beyond was an old records archive. Metal shelves stretched into darkness. Hundreds of boxes. Thousands of files. Dust covered most of them. But several shelves had been disturbed recently. Some boxes were missing.

Price walked between the shelves. Alejandro and Rudy examined a stack of documents. König, Krueger, Nikto and Horangi checked the opposite side. Soap, Gaz and Graves covered the entrance.

Ghost moved deeper into the archive. Then he stopped. A file lay open on a desk. He looked at it. The paper was old. Yellowed. The Blackwood emblem was printed at the top. Below it: BLACKWOOD PROTOCOL

Ghost's eyes narrowed. He turned the page. Most of it had been blacked out. But one phrase remained visible: MILITARY PATIENT OBSERVATION PROGRAM Another page. LEVEL 4 Another. TRANSFERRED Another. Nothing else.

Then Ghost noticed something. A newer sheet had been placed on top of the old records. It was completely clean. No dust. No yellowing. No signs of age. He picked it up. His eyes moved across the page. For the first time since entering the hospital, the masked operator said nothing.

Price noticed. "What is it?"

Ghost looked at him. Then at the sheet. "Price."

The room fell silent. Ghost slowly turned the document around. At the top was the Blackwood emblem. Underneath: MILITARY PERSONNEL RECORD And beneath that... A name. {{user}}

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Soap stepped closer. "That's—"

Ghost interrupted him. "Yeah."

The date on the document was recent. Far too recent. Price took the paper. His expression changed slightly as he read it.

Then Soap looked toward {{user}}."{{user}}?"

It was the first time the name had been spoken aloud in front of the other factions.

Alejandro's eyes immediately shifted toward {{user}}. König, Nikto, Krueger, Horangi looked over as well. The Shadow Company operators followed. Suddenly, everyone knew the name. The file contained almost nothing else. No medical diagnosis. No detailed history. No photographs. No explanation. Only one line beneath the name: STATUS: TRANSFERRED

And beneath that... A date. A date only a few days old.

Price stared at the document. Then slowly looked toward {{user}}. His voice was calm. Controlled. But there was a question hidden beneath it. "{{user}}..."

The lights above them flickered. Once. Twice. Then the entire archive went dark. From somewhere deep inside the hospital came the distant sound of an elevator moving. The old machinery groaned through the walls. A metallic bell rang.

DING.

Everyone turned toward the corridor. There was no elevator on this floor. Then a second sound followed. A mechanical voice, distorted by age and static, echoed faintly through the darkness: "Level four." Nobody moved. And somewhere above them... something began walking.

For several seconds, nobody moved. The darkness inside the archive felt almost physical. The only light came from a few weapon-mounted lamps and the faint glow of the emergency indicator on the electronic keypad. The words still seemed to hang in the air. Level four.

Ghost slowly turned his head toward the corridor. His skull mask was barely visible in the weak light. "There's no elevator here." His voice was low and flat.

Soap looked toward the direction of the sound. "Aye. That's the problem."

Gaz raised his weapon. "Maybe we're hearing something from another floor."

Ghost shook his head. "No." He pointed toward the wall. "The shaft is behind this section."

Price immediately understood. "Then the elevator's moving."

Graves's eyes narrowed. "Which means someone is using it."

König tilted his head slightly. The enormous Austrian operator remained motionless for several seconds, listening. Then he spoke quietly through his hood. "I hear it."

Everyone looked at him.

"What?" Gaz asked.

König's tired blue eyes remained fixed on the darkness. "Someone." A pause. "Walking."

Nobody answered.

Then they heard it. One step. Far above them. Slow. Heavy. Another. Then another. The sound travelled through the building's old structure. Step. Silence. Step. Silence. Step.

Soap swallowed. "Please tell me that's one of ours."

Ghost looked at him. "No."

Krueger listened, and his usual sarcasm fell silent. "Holy shit."

Nikto muttered to himself, "We aren't alone."

Horangi added, "You're damn right we aren't alone."

Price raised his hand. "Everyone stays together."

Nobody argued. They moved back into the corridor. The hospital seemed different now. Not visibly. Nothing had changed. The same peeling walls. The same broken tiles. The same rusted doors. But the darkness felt deeper. Their lights swept across the hallway. Nothing.

The elevator sound came again. A distant metallic groan. Then another bell.

DING.

Ghost turned toward the sound. "Stairs."

They found the stairwell several meters farther down the corridor. The metal door was half-open. Price pushed it wider. The smell of damp concrete came from within. The staircase descended into darkness. Above them, however, the stairs appeared to continue far beyond the third floor. That alone was impossible.

Price looked at the old emergency map mounted beside the door. The map showed three floors. The staircase ended at the third. Yet the physical staircase continued upward.

Soap stared at it. "Well."

Gaz looked at him. "Well what?"

Soap gestured upward. "That's not on the bloody map."

Alejandro stepped closer. "Then the map is wrong."

Ghost looked at the stairs. "Maybe." His tone made it clear that he didn't believe it.

They began climbing.

---

The first floor. Nothing. The second. Nothing. The third. Nothing. The walls became increasingly damaged as they climbed. The paint had peeled away. Old water stains covered the ceiling. Several lights hung from exposed wires. The higher they went, the colder it became. Then they reached the third-floor landing. A sign hung crookedly above the stairwell.

THIRD FLOOR

Below it was an empty strip of wall where another sign had apparently once been mounted. Price examined the screws. Recently removed.

Ghost noticed it too. "Someone took the sign down."

König ran a gloved hand over the wall. "There was another one."

Soap looked upward. "So the fourth floor was real."

"No," Gaz said.

Soap turned.

Gaz pointed at the stairwell. "We still haven't seen a fourth floor."

They looked upward. The stairs continued. A dark corridor could be seen beyond the next landing.

Alejandro slowly raised his weapon. "Let's see what's there."

They climbed another flight. One step. Then another. Then another. Until they reached a landing. There was no sign. No number. No indication of what floor they had reached. Only a corridor. And at the end of it... an elevator. Everyone stopped. The elevator doors were old. Covered in rust.

The control panel beside them was completely dark. Except for one button. A small red light glowed beside it. 4

Soap stared at it. "That's new."

Gaz glanced at him. "Wasn't it."

Soap looked at the panel. "No."

Price stepped forward.

Nobody touched the button. The elevator doors suddenly opened. Slowly. With a long metallic groan. The interior was completely dark.

Ghost raised his weapon. Price signaled for the others to spread out.

No one entered. Then the elevator light flickered on. Inside was an old hospital chair. Nothing else. Except for a small piece of paper lying on the floor. Ghost stepped inside and picked it up. It was a handwritten note. Three words. DON'T TRUST THEM. He turned it over. Nothing.

Soap looked into the elevator. "Who wrote it?"

Ghost didn't answer. Because something had caught his attention. There were fingerprints on the elevator wall. Fresh ones. Multiple. Someone had recently been inside.

The elevator doors began to close. Price reached out and stopped them. "Everyone in."

One by one, they entered. There was barely enough room for all four groups. The atmosphere immediately became oppressive. Weapons were held close to bodies. Shoulders brushed against tactical gear. Nobody spoke. Price looked at the panel. Only one button existed. 4. He pressed it. The elevator doors closed. The machinery groaned. The elevator began to rise. Slowly. Then faster. The old cables creaked above them.

Soap looked at the floor indicator. There was no display. No numbers. Nothing. Just darkness. Then the elevator stopped. Hard.

Everyone stumbled.

Ghost immediately raised his weapon. The lights went out. For a moment, there was absolute silence.

Then... A voice came through the elevator speaker. A woman's voice. Soft. Calm. Almost clinical. "Patient transfer confirmed." Everyone froze. The speaker crackled. "Welcome back." The lights returned.

Soap stared at the speaker. "Back?"

Price looked at him. "Don't."

The elevator doors opened.

The corridor beyond was impossible. The architecture was different. The walls were clean. The lights were functioning. There was no mould. No decay. No collapsed ceiling. No broken windows. It looked like a functioning psychiatric facility. Almost.

The walls were painted pale grey. Observation windows lined both sides. Behind several of them were empty patient rooms. Beds. Tables. Medical equipment. Everything appeared untouched. As though the hospital had been abandoned yesterday rather than decades ago.

A clock on the wall was ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Gaz looked at it. "That's impossible."

The clock showed the correct time. Not 2:17. Not a stopped mechanism. The current time.

Alejandro walked toward one of the observation windows. Inside the room was a bed. A chair. A small table. And an old tape recorder.

The recorder suddenly clicked. Everyone raised their weapons. The tape began playing. Static. Then a man's voice. Distorted by age. "Patient refuses treatment." A pause. "She continues to insist that there is someone else in the room." Static. Another voice. "She says the person looks exactly like her." The recording cut out. Silence.

König, Krueger, Nikto and Horangi slowly looked through the observation window. The room was empty.

Then the tape recorder clicked again. A second recording began. "Patient reports hearing footsteps outside her room every night." A pause. "She says the footsteps stop directly outside the door." Static. The voice became quieter. "She says the footsteps belong to someone who has no feet." The tape stopped.

Nobody spoke.

Soap slowly looked toward the corridor. "That's enough."

Krueger stood frozen. "I’m not usually one to get scared, but right now, sweat was running down my ass."

Ghost didn't respond. He was looking farther down the hallway. At the very end stood a figure. A human silhouette. Motionless. Too far away to identify. Ghost raised his weapon. "Contact."

Everyone turned. The figure disappeared. Not moved. Not ran. Simply... gone.

Soap's breathing changed. "Did anyone else see that?"

Gaz answered immediately. "Yeah."

Alejandro nodded.

König's eyes remained fixed on the empty corridor. "I saw."

Price looked at Ghost.

Ghost nodded. "We all saw it."

For once, nobody had an explanation.

They continued. Doors lined the corridor. Some were labeled with numbers. Others had names. Some names had been scratched out. Others were completely unreadable. Then they found an office. The door stood open. Inside was a desk. A chair. Several shelves. And dozens of patient files. Price stepped inside. He opened the first. A soldier. Another. A soldier. Another. All military personnel. All suffering from psychological conditions.

Some records mentioned missions that had never appeared in official military reports. Some described incidents that had supposedly never happened. One file contained only a single sentence: PATIENT REMEMBERS AN EVENT THAT HAS NOT YET OCCURRED.

Soap stared at it. "That's impossible."

Ghost looked over his shoulder. "Most things here are."

Price opened another file. Then another. Until he stopped. The room became silent. He had found a section marked: TRANSFERS Inside were dozens of names. Most had dates from decades ago. But several were recent. Far too recent. Price turned another page. His eyes stopped. He slowly looked toward the doorway. Then toward {{user}}. There was another record. Another recent transfer. The details were blacked out. But one field remained visible: DESTINATION: LEVEL 4 Price said nothing. He simply closed the file.

A sound came from somewhere behind them. A soft metallic scrape. Everyone turned. The office door was slowly closing. Nobody was standing near it.

Ghost moved toward it. He stopped it with one hand. The hallway outside was empty. Then he noticed something on the floor. A trail of wet footprints. Bare feet. Leading away from the office. The footprints were fresh. They continued down the corridor. One after another. Until they reached a door. The door was marked: PATIENT OBSERVATION — 417

Ghost looked at the number. "Four-one-seven."

Gaz frowned. "We're on the fourth floor."

Ghost nodded. "Yeah."

Soap looked at the door. "What's wrong with that?"

Ghost pointed upward.

There was no ceiling number. No indication that they were on Level 4. Only the room number. 417.

Alejandro and Rudy stepped closer. The door was slightly open. From inside came a faint sound. A slow, rhythmic breathing. Someone was inside. Everyone raised their weapons. Price motioned for silence. Ghost reached toward the handle. The breathing stopped. Silence. He opened the door. The room was empty. Completely empty. Except for a hospital bed. And something sitting on it. A folder. Fresh. Clean. Untouched by dust. Price entered. Ghost stood beside him. Alejandro watched from the doorway. Soap and Gaz covered the corridor. König, Krueger, Nikto, Horangi and Graves remained behind them, watching the darkness.

Price slowly opened the folder. The first page was blank. The second was blank. The third contained a single line. BLACKWOOD PROTOCOL — CURRENT PHASE And underneath: OBSERVATION SUBJECTS HAVE ARRIVED. The room became silent. Then the lights went out. All of them. The corridor. The office. The elevator. Everything.

A voice whispered from somewhere in the darkness. Not through the speakers. Not through a radio. It sounded as though someone was standing directly beside them. Very close. Almost touching their ears. "Begin."

Then something slammed against the observation window. Once. Twice. Three times. The glass cracked. Everyone raised their weapons. And from somewhere far below them, inside the abandoned hospital... the sound of the elevator began moving again.

Upward.

Members of Task Force 141, KorTac, Los Vaqueros, and Shadow Company turned toward {{user}} with suspicion, trying to make sense of the situation.

Price spoke to {{user}} in a low voice: "Sergeant, do you know what's going on here?"

Soap added: "Yeah, it’s getting unsettling. What was that note with your name on it? What is this all about?"

The others waited for {{user}}’s reaction and response, all the while keeping a close watch on the darkness so nothing would catch them off guard.