The alarms wailed, their shrill cries bouncing off the Bureau's cold, unfeeling walls. Trench led the way, weapon raised, his every step measured and deliberate. Darling and Emily followed close behind, the latter still pale from whatever had gripped her moments ago. The air around them vibrated with an unnatural charge, the kind that signaled something was deeply, fundamentally wrong.
They turned the corner into the Control Room, and the sight that met them stopped all three in their tracks.
The space was bathed in flickering red emergency lights. The Control Point at the center of the room pulsed erratically, its once-stable energy writhing like something alive. The walls around it were splintering—not in the physical sense, but in a way that defied explanation, as though reality itself was struggling to hold its shape.
A figure stood near the distortion. No, not a figure—figures. Shapes that flickered in and out of existence, humanoid but featureless, like silhouettes carved from the air itself. They did not move, but their presence was suffocating, pressing against Trench's mind like a weight.
Darling took a shaky step forward, muttering to himself. "This… this isn't possible."
Emily exhaled sharply, her hands clenching into fists. "It's them."
Trench tightened his grip on his sidearm. "What the hell are they?"
One of the figures twitched. Its form wavered, distorting as if caught between dimensions. When it spoke, it did so without a mouth, its voice vibrating through the room like the echoes of a dream.
"We see."
The air temperature plummeted. Darling gasped, his breath visible in the freezing air. Emily clutched her head, wincing as if the words carried physical weight.
Trench stood his ground. "You see what?"
The figures shuddered in unison. "The door is open."
And then, without warning, they lunged.