Rick muttered, "Let's hope we're not walking into a trap."
777 didn't hesitate. "If we are, we spring it loud."
Rick smirked faintly. "That's the spirit."
The woods were wrong. Not horror-movie scream-in-your-face wrong—more like the air was watching them. The trees didn't sway. The wind didn't hum. No birds. No bugs. Just the low static of nothing happening too perfectly.
It was the kind of silence that pressed down on your chest.
Rick's voice got low. "Bad news."
777 didn't even blink. "Van can't move forward?"
Rick's jaw flexed. "Yeah. Roots. Mud. We're grounded."
They stepped out. Fog pooled around their boots like it was alive. The forest here didn't feel old—it felt cursed. Like some memory was buried too deep and still twitching under the moss.
"Pray god we don't get got by ghosts," 777 muttered.
Rick didn't answer.
He turned to the van. "Jennifer, activate travel bag and unlock weapons case."
Jennifer: "Yes, sir. Done."
A pneumatic hiss. Metal shifting. Inside, shelves unfolded like armor revealing bones—sniper, pistols, flashbangs, mags, tools.
Rick loaded a silenced pistol, slotted extra mags into his belt, then yanked a sleek sniper rifle free. He tossed it to 777 without looking.
"You've got overwatch. And the travel bag. It's got the drone modules."
777 slung the gear. "Desperate moments, desperate measures."
Rick didn't smile this time. He paused, glancing at the woods.
"Don't shoot unless I say."
777 raised a brow. "Since when?"
Rick's eyes stayed on the treeline. "Last time something echoed in woods like these, the trees screamed."
777 froze mid-check.
"…What?"
Rick didn't explain. Just moved on.
"Jennifer, deploy stealth drone. Pattern soft weave. Look for anything that breathes weird."
Jennifer: "Drone deployed. Silent pattern initiated."
A soft green blip flicked through the fog and disappeared.
Drone POV
Switching to low-light mode. Trees logged: 114.
Searching…
Unnatural heat signature: 47m northeast.
No biological ID match.
Movement pattern: staggered / circling / not human.
Drone status: Tracking. Stealth maintained.
Audio: [Crackling. Whispering. Metallic grinding.]
Back in the forest, 777 glanced at Rick.
"That's not normal."
Rick loaded the second pistol and said quietly, "Neither are we."
They were about to move when Rick suddenly stopped mid-step.
"Wait. Forgot the night vision scope… and the goggles."
777 blinked. "You? Forgetting gear? Wow. Mark the calendar."
Rick shot him a dry look. "I'm a human being. Like you. Just... better."
777 snorted. "Yeah, okay. Mr. 'Trees Scream Sometimes.'"
Rick ignored that, heading back to the case and quickly locking the night scope onto the sniper rifle. He tossed the NV goggles to 777, who caught them one-handed and put them on with flair.
Jennifer chimed in through their wrist comms. "Location of stealth drone and control link is now synced to your watch, Commander."
Rick tapped his screen. "Thanks, Jennifer."
The green blip blinked in sync with his steps.
"Now we're ready," he said.
777 nodded, snapping the last mag into place. "Let's go ghost-hunting."
They stepped into the woods—47 meters northeast, according to the watch.
The sun had vanished. Darkness draped itself over the forest like something alive, swallowing sound and light whole.
But Rick and 777 walked like men who'd already made peace with monsters.
Leaves clung to their boots, thick with damp decay. The trees whispered above, their branches twitching like nervous fingers.
The air was laced with a sweet, rotten scent—like honey poured over something dead.
Then they saw it.
Up ahead, a clearing.
In the center stood a structure—a hut cobbled together with wood and metal scrap, as if someone tried to keep the world out… or something in.
And in front of it: fire.
An object hung from a rusted beam, chained tight, slowly swinging in a wide arc—like a pendulum possessed.
Flames crawled along its surface, licking at the metal and shedding sparks in a halo with every pass. The chains groaned with each motion.
It didn't swing naturally. It circled—tracing a perfect loop, again and again, as if marking time in a language only ghosts understood.
777's voice dropped low. "What the fuck are they doing with fire?"
Rick didn't answer immediately. He was watching the motion—studying the burn patterns, the unnatural grace.
"…Maybe trying to scare animals off," he finally muttered, but his voice betrayed him.
Because he knew.
That wasn't a warning.
It was a signal.
Rick's voice cut through the static tension. "Jennifer. Any sign of life inside?"
"No sign of life," she replied instantly, cold and clear.
"Sending silent drone," 777 muttered.
He flicked his wrist, and the palm-sized drone hummed awake—no louder than a breath. It zipped from his hand, climbing upward and slipping through the hut's narrow chimney like a ghost made of tech. On-screen: static, dust, then stillness. An empty room.
"The path's clear. Let's go," 777 said, already moving.
They approached the hut with quiet urgency. Rick drew his pistol, then signaled with two fingers and a nod.
777, reading him like code, readied himself at the door.
Rick whispered: "Three... two... one—"
777's boot slammed forward, splintering the door on impact.
They swept in fast and low, weapons raised, eyes cutting through the gloom like searchlights.
But no one was inside.
Just silence.
And a scene built to be found.
At the center of the room: a table, lone and deliberately placed, with one chair pushed in neatly—too neatly.
The air was heavy with smoke, like the fire outside had seeped into the walls.
In the corner, a broken clock lay sideways on the floor.
Its face cracked, its hands twitching unnaturally.
The number 9 was circled in thick red marker.
And despite its shattered state…
…the clock still ticked.
"Just a table, a chair, a broken clock that won't die—and a haunted number 9," 777 muttered.
Rick peered through the dust-stained window, eyes narrowed at the ink-black treeline. "Does the time on that clock match ours?"
777 checked his watch. "Yeah. Both say 8:49."
Rick's voice tightened. "Then we've got ten minutes to figure out what the hell this means. Jennifer, minute-by-minute countdown."
"Understood," Jennifer said calmly.
"Could be a meeting spot," 777 added, pacing. "Though why only one chair?"
Rick set the travel bag down and began unpacking its tools onto the table.
"Jennifer, lock down the van," he ordered. "Nine minutes left."
"Done. Eight minutes remaining."
"But there's only one chair," 777 repeated, frowning. "That cancels the meeting theory… unless it's not meant for us."
"Jennifer," Rick barked, "run a full sensor sweep using my suit—scan for explosives, pressure triggers, anything."
"No C4 or explosive signatures detected. Seven minutes remaining."
Rick let out a short breath. "At least we're not walking into a boom."
"Still feels like someone—or something—is showing up at nine," 777 muttered, hand hovering near his sidearm. "Whatever it is… we'll handle it."
Rick nodded slowly. His voice dropped low. "Maybe. But that's the real problem—we don't know what we're dealing with."
777 glanced at him, frustrated. "So what now?"
"We wait. Till 10:30."
"Why?"
Rick rubbed his forehead, already tired of the explanation. "Long story short? We're here because some old man said Tobey came through these woods. I didn't believe him—"
"Then why follow it?"
"Because it lined up. Only clue we've had points back to that lunatic scientist org we burned to the ground years ago. They had a small base here."
777's jaw tensed. "I remember. If they're still active… we have no clue what's waiting."
"Exactly. And my family? They're in serious danger."
777 nodded. "Every step from here needs to be calculated. One misstep…"
"We remember Rule One," Rick said.
"Always assume someone out there is better than us."
"Even if they don't exist—we plan like they do."
A cold silence hung between them for a beat.
777 looked around the room. "So… what's the deal with this setup?"
Rick shrugged. "No clue. Feels like bait, honestly."
"Jennifer, place the drone on silent standby nearby," 777 ordered.
"Drone repositioned and cloaked," she confirmed.
Rick tapped the window frame. "Could be a gang. Could be one psycho. Could be something worse."
"Time check," Jennifer said flatly. "We've reached timestamp: 8:59."
Rick drew his pistol. "Weapons hot. You ready?"
777 smirked. "Always."
The forest outside was frozen still—like even the wind held its breath. Trees stood tall and lifeless, their bark blackened with time, moss creeping up like moldy fingers. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of wet earth and rot masked faintly by the pine's sweetness.
Somewhere deeper in the dark… a snap. A crunch of leaves. Then—
Screams.
They came all at once.
Piercing, layered, distorted—like someone playing ghost screams on a broken speaker underwater. Not human. Not even close. The trees shivered, leaves rustling like whispers.
Both Rick and 777 snapped toward the sound in sync:
"What the fuck—"
Suddenly, a buzz from Rick's pocket. Jennifer's offline module kicked in, her voice glitchy.
"C-Connections lost. Offline systems… active. Drone's in fallback. EMP interference… expect major tech failure. I—may not last…"
Static.
Rick blinked. "Well, that's new. Yeah… we're fucked."
777 exhaled sharply. "Don't piss your pants, mate."
Rick smirked. "You first."