Barbrain's thoughts raced as he weighed his options. His priority was clear: save George at any cost. His gaze settled on George, who lay pale and trembling, his leg a mangled mess from the Cerberus attack. The once-confident officer now looked fragile and vulnerable, his life ebbing away with each passing second.
Barbrain strode toward Noel, his voice cold and commanding. "You promised medical aid for George. Where is it?"
The old man's face twisted into a sly, almost mocking smile, the deep lines of age only adding to the unsettling expression. "Did I say that?" he murmured, his voice dripping with false innocence. "Ah, the burdens of an aging mind—so prone to forgetting… Ha ha ha," he chuckled, the sound low and grating, cutting through the tense silence that hung over the group. His laughter didn't carry any warmth; instead, it reverberated through the dim, shadowed halls of the mansion, amplifying the sense of unease. "But don't worry," he added, his tone shifting to something almost condescending, "I'll go fetch the nurses."
The promise seemed more like a threat as his words lingered in the air, leaving the team uneasy as the old man turned and began to shuffle away, his footsteps echoing ominously in the distance.
Barbrain didn't trust the old man for a second. He ordered Rowl and John to follow him. "Make sure he doesn't pull any tricks," he commanded.
""Yes, sir!" Rowl and John responded in unison, their hands instinctively tightening around their weapons as they flanked the old man. Noel hesitated for a moment, a shadow crossing his face before he shrugged nonchalantly and led the way down a dimly lit corridor.
Meanwhile, Dr. Ansel and Dr. Terrance were doing all they could for George, but they were forensic experts, not medical doctors. Their skills lay in examining the dead, not saving the living. George's wounds were far beyond their expertise. Blood seeped through their improvised bandages, pooling on the ornate but dusty marble floor, the rich crimson stark against the pale stone.
The rest of the team spread out, splitting into groups to search the mansion for the elusive architect. The rain outside intensified, turning into a torrential downpour. Thunder cracked, shaking the very foundation of the mansion, as if the heavens themselves were in turmoil.
Rowl and John returned with the old man, who had brought two nurses, Or so it seemed. Their faces were unnaturally serene, eyes void of emotion, movements almost mechanical as they carried a bulky medical kit between them... The nurses, dressed in old-fashioned uniforms, demanded that everyone leave the room. "We can't start until you're all outside," they insisted.
Dr. Terrance and Dr. Ansel, unwilling to leave George in their care, argued, "We won't abandon our comrade. We're doctors too. We stay."
The nurse's expression didn't waver. "For the procedure to be effective, we require privacy. Your presence will only hinder our work."
Tension thickened in the air as eyes darted between Barbrain and the nurses. Rowl, attempting to diffuse the situation, placed a reassuring hand on Terrance's shoulder. "Doc, I know it's hard, We have no choice. You know you can't treat these wounds. Let the doctors do their job."
Reluctantly, the team left the room, leaving George with the so-called nurses. The rain now hammered against the windows, and the sound of thunder was deafening. The team regrouped, splitting into pairs to continue their search. The mansion, with its twisting corridors and shadowy rooms, seemed to grow darker with every step they took.
Meanwhile, behind a heavy oak door at the end of a secluded corridor, George lay on a cold metal table. The room was stark, illuminated by a single, blinding overhead light that cast harsh shadows across his contorted face. The metallic scent of antiseptic mixed unpleasantly with the lingering odor of mildew and decay.
The two nurses loomed over him, their earlier calm replaced by something far more menacing. One produced a set of gleaming surgical tools from the kit, each instrument sharper and more intimidating than the last. George's eyes widened in terror as realization dawned. He tried to move, but thick leather straps bound his wrists and ankles, digging painfully into his skin.
"W-what are you doing?" he stammered, voice quivering.
One nurse leaned in close, her once expressionless face now twisted into a cruel smile. "Providing care, of course," she whispered, her voice dripping with sadistic delight.
George, already weakened by the Cerberus' attack, screamed in agony as they began dissecting him alive, without administering any anesthesia, she pressed a scalpel into George's abdomen, the blade slicing through flesh with practiced ease. A blood-curdling scream tore from his throat, echoing off the sterile walls but drowned out by a particularly violent crash of thunder. Blood splattered across the room, coating the walls in a sickening crimson. The nurses worked with eerie precision, their faces void of emotion, as if they were performing a routine procedure.
George's screams were blood-curdling, yet they were swallowed by the thick walls of the mansion, muffled by the relentless storm outside. His cries for help went unheard by his comrades, who were only a few rooms away, oblivious to the horror unfolding.
The old man, standing just outside the door, watched the team search for the architect, a twisted smile playing on his lips.
a sudden unease washing over him. For a fleeting moment, he thought he heard something—a distant scream carried away by the storm. His instincts screamed at him that something was terribly wrong.
"Did you hear that?" he asked, turning to Marina, his eyes reflecting his growing dread.
She shook her head, worry creasing her brow. "Hear what?"
Before he could respond, another flash of lightning illuminated the corridor, and in that brief moment, Barbrain thought he saw a shadow dart past at the end of the hall. Heart pounding, he sprinted back toward the room where George had been taken, Marina close on his heels.
They reached the door to find Noel standing guard, his ever-present smile now gone, replaced by a look of mild annoyance. "You shouldn't be here," he said flatly.
Barbrain, was frustrated with the fruitless search with his gun drawn. "I'm going to ask you one last time—" But his words were cut short by a sudden flash of lightning, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. For a moment, there was a silence, thick and oppressive, before Barbrain heard it—a faint, desperate noise from within the room.
Pushing the old man aside, Barbrain rushed to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked from the inside. "Something's wrong!" he shouted; his voice filled with urgency. The rest of the team, sensing the gravity of the situation, rushed to his aid. Together, they broke down the door.
What they found inside was beyond their worst nightmares.
George lay on the table, his body a grotesque mess. His chest was brutally pried open, ribs splayed out like the wings of a grotesque, blood-soaked butterfly. His organs were strewn across the room, his limbs severed and discarded like butcher's scraps. The walls were painted with his blood, thick and glistening in the dim light. The nurses, those monsters, had vanished without a trace, leaving only the evidence of their horrific deed.
His eyes were locked in a wide, unblinking stare, frozen in a harrowing expression of pure agony and terror. His mouth hung open, as if in the midst of an endless scream that reverberated in the minds of those who dared to look upon him. The team stood paralyzed, their breath caught in their throats, unable to fully grasp the horror laid out before them.
The air was thick with the stifling, metallic scent of fresh blood, so pungent it seemed to cling to the walls and seep into their very pores. It mingled with the nauseating stench of torn flesh and exposed entrails, creating an overpowering miasma that threatened to choke the life out of them.
Then, piercing the suffocating silence, the howl of the Cerberus reverberated through the mansion's halls. It was a chilling reminder that the nightmare they found themselves in was far from over. They were trapped in a hellish reality, with no clear path of escape.
Rowl fell to his knees, guilt consuming him. "It's my fault," he choked out. "I convinced you all to leave… I let him die…"
Barbrain, his face pale and stricken, turned away from the carnage, unable to bear the sight. He ordered the team to search for the nurses, though he knew deep down that they were long gone. The windows were still locked from the inside, and the only exit was the door they had just broken down.
But the most devastated was Nancy. She had been in a relationship with George, and they were to be married at the end of the month. Her grief turned into fury as she lashed out at Barbrain, "Why do you keep giving orders? Why don't you get off your ass and search for them yourself? You're the captain, right? You promised no one would die! It's your fault George is dead, torn apart like an animal! You always have instincts when something bad is going to happen, don't you? So why didn't you stop this? Why did you let him lead?"
No one tried to stop her. Deep down, they all felt she was right. Their trust in Barbrain was crumbling. The captain, who always had a reassuring word, was now silent, his confidence shattered. His mind raced with guilt and regret. *She's right. I knew this mission was different. I knew it from the start, and yet I let George lead…* He couldn't bear it and fled the room.
As he left, Barbrain noticed that the old man was gone. His anger flared, and he shouted into the darkness, "Noel! You old bastard, Noel Fernandez! Where the hell did you go? You and that architect, you're not getting away with this! I'll hunt you down, even if I have to drag you out of hell itself! You'll pay for what you've done to George!"
Hearing their captain's anguished cry, the team rushed out to join the search for Noel. Barbrain, his emotions raw and exposed, vowed, "I'll find you and that architect, even if you're hiding in the depths of hell. You'll suffer more than George did, I swear it!"
Seeing their captain so broken yet determined, the team's resolve hardened. They knew this mission was unlike any other. They had to rely on Barbrain's experience, his years of leading them without a single casualty. But now, with their first failure looming over them, they had no choice but to trust him once more.
Barbrain slowly gathered himself, and with a steely resolve, he began searching for Noel. The team followed, their determination renewed. The mansion's main door was locked from the outside, and breaking a window or forcing the door wasn't an option—not with the Cerberus still lurking.
They had to face whatever horrors awaited them inside the mansion, and they had to do it together, trusting in their captain to lead them out of this nightmare.