 but felt by all. The walls didn't just whisper now; they spoke in tones only the brave—or the foolish—would dare to listen to.

\*

The subterranean silence of Dulce was an oppressive entity of its own, wrapping the team in a cloak of uneasiness as they pressed on through the dimly lit corridor. Jordan Hayes found themselves contemplating the ramifications of each step taken into this suspended world, where the sterile air seemed to mock the gravity of their predicament. The closer they got to the communication hub, the more Jordan's mind wandered toward the realm of the inexplicable.

Beside Jordan, Alex Mercer moved forward with deliberation, his gaze scanning the heavy utility doors they passed—one of which was partially ajar, beckoning them with its darkness. "After you, Dr. Hayes," Alex said, gesturing toward the mysterious opening. A hint of shared understanding passed between them; knowledge was the guiding star of this mission as much as confrontation or recovery.

Jordan peered inside, the beam from their flashlight slicing through the obscurity. The room beyond was a chaotic cascade of papers, overturned furniture, and the particular kind of disorder born from hasty evacuation—or something far more sinister.

"It's like they vanished in the middle of something urgent," Alex murmured, his voice tight with a mix of concern and anticipation. He began to sift through the scattered reports, each page a potential clue to the enigmatic silence that shrouded Dulce.

Behind them, Taylor watched with a disciplined patience, their authority the foundation upon which the operation was built. Their voice cut into the stillness, a reminder of their presence, "Time is not our ally here."

Drawing back from momentary distraction, Jordan acknowledged the wisdom in Taylor's words, yet could feel the shift in their stance—from skeptical, reserved analyst, to a proactive agent within the narrative. "You're right; these documents may hold critical insights. Let's collect what we can and analyze them properly."

From the darkened hollows of the room, shadows seemed to cast subtle judgment as Alex and Jordan worked together with heightened urgency. Taylor, for once, didn't intervene but instead surveyed the entrance, their mind anticipating the unknown variables that lay ahead.

Unexpectedly, a soft hiss emanated from a neglected terminal on the desk. Jordan's head snapped up, their heart rate accelerating at the potential ramifications. Without a word, they moved to the machine, hands driven by the newfound conviction that knowledge was more than power—it was survival.

As Jordan began to extract what data they could from the terminal, the first comprehensible communication from the depths of Dulce in far too long crackled through: an automated distress marker, looping endlessly without further context. It was a revelation, one that reverberated through the group, confirming their fears and igniting an even greater need to press on.

Watching Jordan's dogged determination, Alex witnessed the minor transformation in his colleague unfold—a shift