The smell hit me first.
It wasn't just the stink of spoiled food. It was the heavy, copper tang of old blood mixed with the sweetness of rotting meat. It was the smell of a butcher shop that had lost power in the middle of a heatwave and had been left sealed for fifty years.
"Oh, wow," I gagged, pulling the collar of my shirt up over my nose. "That is ripe. That is genuinely offensive."
I stepped into the kitchen.
It was a massive, industrial space. Stainless steel counters, now dull and rusted, ran in long rows down the center of the room. Huge iron stoves lined the back wall, cold and covered in grime. Above, meat hooks hung from a conveyor rail system on the ceiling, swaying gently in a draft that shouldn't exist.
The only light came from the moon filtering through the high, grime-caked windows, casting long, skeletal shadows across the checkered floor.
"Okay, Ghost Gang," I whispered, keeping The Negotiator raised and ready. "We are clearing the ground floor. This is the kitchen. If video games have taught me anything, there is usually health packs in here. Or a boss fight."
I walked past a prep table. A cleaver was embedded deep in the wood, rusted almost to dust.
Buzz.
The sound was faint at first. A low hum, like a faulty electrical wire.
I stopped. The humming got louder.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
It wasn't electricity. It was wings. Thousands of them.
I shined my flashlight toward the back of the room, near the walk-in freezers.
A cloud of black flies swarmed in the air, moving like a single, fluid organism. They weren't flying randomly; they were circling something.
That something was massive.
Hunched over a chopping block in the corner was a figure that defied human anatomy. It was enormous, a mound of pale, bloated flesh that spilled over the sides of the table. It wore a filthy apron that was more red than white.
The Glutton.
The entity held a rusted meat tenderizer in one hand, slamming it down onto the table with a rhythmic, wet thud.
Thud. Buzz. Thud. Buzz.
"Okay," I breathed, my heart rate spiking again. "That is a big boy. That is a very big boy."
I took a step back, hoping to retreat to the hallway before it saw me.
My boot crunched on a dry bone scattered on the floor.
The slamming stopped. The buzzing stopped.
The mountain of flesh slowly turned around.
It didn't have eyes. Its face was a swollen mass of scar tissue, but its mouth... its mouth was a gaping maw filled with jagged, yellow teeth. Saliva dripped from its lips, sizzling where it hit the floor.
"Fresh... meat..."
The voice sounded like wet gravel grinding together.
"Actually, I am mostly preservatives and anxiety," I quip, racking the shotgun slide. "You really don't want to eat me."
The Glutton roared, a sound that shook the pots hanging from the ceiling. It grabbed the heavy oak chopping block it had been using—a piece of wood that must have weighed two hundred pounds—and hurled it at me like it was a frisbee.
"Move!"
I dove behind a stainless steel prep counter just as the block smashed into it, denting the metal and sending utensils flying.
"Okay, diplomacy is off the table!"
I popped up and fired the left barrel.
BOOM.
The white light of the spectral buckshot hit the Glutton in the shoulder. It blasted a chunk of ectoplasm away, but the creature was so massive that the shot barely slowed it down. The wound sizzled and began to knit itself back together, the flies swarming into the hole to patch it up.
"Regenerating armor?" I shouted, ducking as a cleaver spun over my head and embedded itself in the wall. "That is not fair! Who balanced this game?"
The Glutton charged. For something so fat, it moved with terrifying speed, bulldozing through the prep tables. Metal screeched as it tore through the kitchen, closing the distance between us.
I scrambled back, sliding on the slick floor. I needed something stronger than the standard buckshot. The white rounds were for precision. I needed crowd control. I needed fire.
I fumbled with the heavy black case I had dragged in with me, kicking it open.
"Dragon's Breath. Dragon's Breath. Where are you?"
My fingers found a box marked with a red flame symbol. I grabbed two shells.
The Glutton was ten feet away, raising a massive fist to crush me into paste.
I cracked the gun open, ejecting the spent shells. I jammed the red ones in.
"Order up!"
I snapped the barrel shut and pulled both triggers at once.
FWOOSH.
This wasn't a gunshot. It was a flamethrower.
A cone of blue, spiritual fire erupted from the barrels. It washed over the Glutton, engulfing the creature in a roaring inferno.
The effect was instant. The flies that made up its armor incinerated instantly, turning to ash. The blue fire clung to the spirit's bloated form, burning not just the flesh but the energy holding it together.
The Glutton shrieked. It wasn't a roar this time; it was a high-pitched squeal of panic. It flailed wildly, crashing into the stoves, setting the grease traps on fire with blue spectral flames.
"Burn!" I yelled, the heat of the blast singeing my eyebrows. "Burn, you overgrown buffet!"
The spirit stumbled back, its form melting like wax. The blue fire consumed it from the outside in. With a final, wet explosion, the Glutton burst apart.
Ectoplasm splattered the walls, evaporating into steam before it hit the ground.
Silence returned to the kitchen.
I stood there, chest heaving, The Negotiator smoking in my hands. The barrel was hot enough to cook an egg.
"Okay," I panted, checking the camera. "That was... intense. Note to self: Dragon's Breath is effective, but risky indoors."
I looked around the ruined kitchen. The tables were overturned. Utensils were everywhere. Scorch marks covered the walls.
"But the kitchen is clear. That is two rooms down. Eighty to go."
I walked over to where the Glutton had been standing. On the floor, amidst the fading ash, something glinted.
It was a set of keys. Heavy, iron keys on a brass ring.
"Hello," I said, crouching down to pick them up. They were cold. "What do you open?"
I looked at the tags on the keys. They were written in faded Italian ink.
CANTINA (Cellar). LAVANDERIA (Laundry). TORRE (Tower).
"Jackpot," I grinned. "We have the master keys. We control the doors now."
I clipped the keys to my belt.
"Alright, Ghost Gang. We have secured a weapon. We have secured access. Now, we need to secure a perimeter. I saw a room near the lobby that looked like a security office. Thick door. No windows. That is our safe house for the night."
I turned to leave the kitchen, stepping over the debris.
"We are going to barricade ourselves in, review the footage, and plan the assault on the second floor. Because if the basement is flooded and the upstairs is full of patients... we are going to need a strategy."
I pushed the kitchen doors open, stepping back into the hallway.
"And maybe a snack. But definitely not from here."