"Okay, got it," Asher said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Now what? We leave it here and pretend we never saw it?"
"Uh, yeah. I'm good with not summoning any tentacled monsters today," Moros quipped, still eyeing the object warily. "Besides, it's probably some kind of weird art installation. Let's just head back before we get in over our heads."
As they turned to leave, the sound of footsteps echoed from below.
Moros froze. "Did you hear that?"
Asher's eyes narrowed. He motioned for Moros to stay quiet, and together, they crept toward the staircase, listening intently. The footsteps were slow, deliberate, and growing closer.
"Someone's here," Asher whispered.
Moros felt his heart race, the carefree humor he'd held onto all evening slipping away. "What do we do?"
"Stay calm. We'll check it out. Maybe it's just another Roomba," Asher said, but even he didn't sound convinced.
The two brothers made their way down the stairs as quietly as they could, the creaks of the old wood practically betraying their every move. When they reached the bottom, they peered around a stack of crates, their hearts pounding in unison.
Standing in the middle of the warehouse was a figure dressed in dark clothing, their face obscured by a hood. They were holding a small flashlight and seemed to be searching for something.
"Okay, this just went from weird to straight-up creepy," Moros whispered, instinctively backing up.
Asher placed a hand on Moros's shoulder, keeping him from retreating. "Wait. Let's see what they're up to."
The figure moved toward the far wall, where the Roomba had been earlier, and pulled something out of their pocket. It looked like a small, metal device, which they attached to one of the crates.
"That's not normal," Asher muttered.
"Ya think?" Moros replied, his voice barely audible. "What do you think it is?"
Before Asher could respond, the device emitted a soft beep, and the figure quickly turned and hurried toward the exit, slipping out through the same back door Asher and Moros had entered earlier.
Asher bolted forward, racing toward the crate. Moros hesitated, torn between running after his brother and heading for the exit himself. After a moment of internal debate, he followed.
By the time Moros caught up, Asher was crouched in front of the crate, inspecting the device.
"It's some kind of tracker," Asher said, frowning.
"A tracker? Why would someone put a tracker in an abandoned warehouse?" Moros asked, completely baffled.
"I have no idea. But it doesn't look good. I think whoever that was, they're planning something," Asher said, standing up and stepping back from the crate.
"Something like what?" Moros asked, feeling a growing sense of unease.
Asher shook his head. "I don't know. But I don't like it."
Moros glanced around the warehouse, the once-familiar space now filled with new, unnerving possibilities. "Do we call the police?"
Asher hesitated. "We could, but what are we going to tell them? That we saw a tracker in an old warehouse? They'll just think we're paranoid."
"Well, we are paranoid," Moros pointed out.
"Yeah, but I think we need more than that before we bring anyone else into this," Asher said. He turned to face Moros, his expression serious. "We need to figure out who that person was and what they're planning. Otherwise, we're flying blind."
Moros sighed. "Great. So, what's the plan?"
Asher's eyes narrowed. "We come back tomorrow night. And this time, we're bringing some gear."
Moros groaned. "Why do I feel like this is about to turn into a bad action movie?"
Asher grinned. "Because it probably is. But hey, at least you'll get some new material for your streams."
Moros rolled his eyes. "Oh, fantastic. 'Moros investigates an abandoned warehouse'—that'll really drive up the views."
As they left the warehouse and stepped back out into the night, Moros couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to get a whole lot more complicated than he'd ever anticipated.
The fun and games were definitely over. This time, it was for real.
The following day felt strangely mundane for Moros, considering what lay ahead. He spent most of it pretending to focus on his streaming work—editing clips from last night's epic broom closet saga and responding to messages from viewers—but his mind kept drifting back to the warehouse and that strange figure.
By the time the evening rolled around, Moros was feeling antsy. He stared at the time on his phone, his foot tapping nervously against the floor. Asher had texted him earlier in the afternoon, saying he'd gather some equipment and meet him outside the warehouse around 9 PM.
Moros sighed, pulling his hoodie over his head. "This is either going to be the coolest adventure or the dumbest decision of my life," he muttered to himself.
As he left his apartment and made his way toward the warehouse, his thoughts were a jumble of excitement and apprehension. He liked adventure, sure, but this felt… different. It wasn't just a game or a dare anymore. Something real was happening, and he wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with it.
When he reached the warehouse, the streets were dark and quiet, lit only by a few flickering streetlights. Asher was already waiting for him by the broken fence, dressed in dark clothing and holding a small duffel bag.
"Glad you made it," Asher said, nodding at him. "You ready for this?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Moros replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "What's in the bag? Please tell me it's not something illegal."
Asher chuckled. "Relax. Just some basic stuff—flashlights, gloves, and a camera. We need to document whatever we find in there. If things get weird, we'll want proof."
"Proof of what exactly?" Moros asked, already knowing the answer. Asher had a habit of diving into situations with little more than a hunch and blind confidence.
"Anything that explains why that tracker was there," Asher said, his face serious. "Come on, let's get inside before someone spots us."
They slipped through the sagging fence and entered the warehouse once more, moving quietly through the same rusty door they'd used the night before. The air inside felt colder, more oppressive, as if the building itself knew something strange was happening.
Asher led the way, his flashlight beam cutting through the darkness as they made their way toward the far side of the warehouse where they'd seen the figure last night. The crate with the tracker still sat in the same spot, untouched.
"Okay, first things first," Asher said, kneeling beside the crate. He pulled a small pair of pliers from the duffel bag and carefully removed the tracker. "We need to take this with us. Might be able to figure out where it came from."
Moros nodded, his eyes scanning the shadows around them. "So, what now? Do we check the rest of the place or—"
A sudden noise cut him off. A distant thump, followed by the sound of footsteps. Someone else was inside the warehouse.
Asher immediately clicked off his flashlight, signaling Moros to do the same. They crouched low behind the crates, listening intently. The footsteps were growing louder, closer, and this time there were more than one set.
"Who the hell is that?" Moros whispered, his heart hammering in his chest.
Asher motioned for silence, his eyes locked on the entrance to the warehouse. Moros strained to see through the darkness, his palms sweating as he gripped the edge of the crate.
Then, from the shadows, two figures appeared, both dressed in black, just like the person they'd seen the night before. One of them was holding what looked like a walkie-talkie, while the other had a flashlight that they were sweeping across the warehouse floor.
"They're searching for something," Asher whispered, his voice barely audible.
Moros swallowed hard. "We need to get out of here before they find us."
Asher shook his head. "No. Not yet. Let's see what they do first."
The two figures moved deeper into the warehouse, their voices low and unintelligible. Moros watched as they made their way toward the desk on the second floor, where they'd found the strange object last night. One of the figures bent down and picked up the jagged artifact, inspecting it closely.
Moros's stomach tightened. Whoever these people were, they were clearly interested in the same thing Asher and he had stumbled upon.
"What do we do if they take it?" Moros whispered.
"We follow them," Asher said, his eyes never leaving the figures. "We need to know where they're going and what they're doing with that thing."
Moros wasn't sure how much he liked the idea of following these people—who were probably much more prepared for whatever was going on—but before he could protest, one of the figures said something into the walkie-talkie, and both of them began heading back toward the exit.
Asher and Moros exchanged a glance. There was no turning back now.
"Come on," Asher whispered, motioning for Moros to follow. They crept after the figures, keeping a safe distance, slipping from shadow to shadow as they made their way out of the warehouse and back into the night.