They reached the intersection in silence.
Four tunnels branched outward from the spot where they stood, their entrances jagged and uneven, carved not by machinery but by something far older and less precise. Water trickled down the walls, forming shallow puddles at their feet. The helmet lights swept across the stone, revealing scratches and gouges that ran along the surfaces like claw marks.
Constable Armando raised his fist.
The squad halted immediately.
"Sergeant," Armando said quietly into his radio, keeping his voice low and controlled, "we've reached an intersection. Multiple paths. Should we secure the area up to this point?"
There was a brief pause. Static crackled faintly.
"Yes," the Sergeant replied from above. "Secure the area up to the intersection and hold position. Wait for reinforcements. We don't know what we're dealing with down there. Better safe than sorry."
Armando nodded to himself, though the Sergeant couldn't see it.
"Copy that."
He turned to his men, signaling them into position. Two soldiers covered the left tunnel, two the right. Another watched the rear. Weapons raised. Fingers tense on triggers. Breathing shallow.
Once the perimeter was established, Armando keyed the radio again.
"Commander," he said, "we've secured the intersection and are holding position. Reinforcements requested and awaited. Do you have any further instructions?"
In the command room, Incarceratus listened carefully, eyes fixed on the monitors.
"No," he replied after a moment. "That's good. Send the reinforcements."
To his right, a Lieutenant immediately picked up his phone, dialing with practiced efficiency. He spoke in clipped, professional tones, then ended the call and turned back to the Commander.
"Reinforcements are en route, sir."
Incarceratus gave a short nod.
Then he heard it.
At first, it was barely noticeable—a faint sound slipping through the background hiss of the headset. He leaned forward instinctively, brow furrowing.
On the screen, the soldiers began turning their heads, lights sweeping erratically across the tunnels.
The Sergeant stiffened beside him.
"Sir…" he said slowly, unease creeping into his voice. "They're… hearing something."
Incarceratus turned sharply. "What kind of something?"
The Sergeant swallowed. "A girl. Crying."
Incarceratus's eyes widened.
He stood up so abruptly his chair scraped loudly against the floor. Without hesitation, he reached forward and pulled the headset from the Sergeant's hands, pressing it firmly over his own ears.
"Constable Armando," he said loudly, forcing authority into his voice. "Do you hear me? Identify the source of the crying. Which direction is it coming from?"
Static crackled violently.
Then Armando's voice came through, strained and distorted.
"S-Sir… it's—" the signal faltered. "It's coming from everywhere. I—I don't know how to explain it. We're holding position like ordered, but… not gonna lie, sir. My men are freaking out."
"Hold your ground," Incarceratus replied immediately. "Reinforcements are close. Do not advance. Do you copy—"
The line cut out.
Only harsh static remained.
"Armando?" Incarceratus barked. "Do you copy? ARMANDO?"
No answer.
Through the static, faint sounds slipped through—muffled shouting, panicked voices, something crashing.
Then screaming.
All around the room, people reacted at once. Officers stood up abruptly. Phones were drawn. Orders barked. Screens flickered violently before going completely white.
Static. On every monitor.
Incarceratus tried the radio again. Nothing.
Slowly, he removed the headset and set it down.
"Everyone!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. "We're heading down to the tunnel. NOW. MOVE IT! GO, GO, GO!"
***
The tunnel entrance was swarming with soldiers when they arrived.
The reinforcement unit had already pulled back, escorting several shaken members of the original squad.
Incarceratus pushed through them, scanning each face urgently.
Armando wasn't there. He started counting.
Neither were three others.
"Commander!" one soldier shouted as he approached, desperation clear in his voice. "Sir—Constable Armando and a few of our men are still down there. Please, we have to get them out!"
Incarceratus grabbed him by the shoulder. "Tell me exactly what happened."
The soldier swallowed hard.
"Sir… we heard the crying, the crying of a little girl. Then communications just—cut. No warning. The ceiling started shaking. Rocks came down everywhere. I would've been crushed if Constable Armando hadn't shoved me out of the way." His voice broke. "But he got trapped on the other side. The reinforcement team ordered us to fall back first."
Other soldiers gathered, pleading voices overlapping.
"They're still alive down there, sir!"
"We can't just leave them!"
Incarceratus closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Then he opened them.
"Understood," he said firmly. "I'll have teams sent in to clear the debris and extract them. In the meantime, you will rest, hydrate, and remain on standby."
Relief washed over the soldiers' faces.
"Thank you, sir!" they said in unison, saluting before hurrying away.
***
"Now we're in deep sh#t," Armando muttered.
He leaned against the newly collapsed wall, pressing his palm to the cold stone. The exit was completely blocked—rock, dirt, concrete fused together in an impenetrable barrier.
No radio.
No cameras.
No way back.
Only three soldiers remained with him.
"Well," he sighed, forcing a crooked grin, "looks like we either wait… or we check this sh#t out ourselves."
One of the soldiers let out a weak laugh. "Aye, sir. We're kinda f#cked."
Armando bared his teeth in a grin.
"So," he continued, straightening up, "what do you say? We sit here and twiddle thumbs… or we go find this killer?"
"We're with you, sir," another soldier chimed in.
Armando nodded. "Figures."
"But… left or right?" the last soldier asked.
Armando paused.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin.
"Heads, we go right. Tails, left."
The coin spun through the air, clinking as it hit the ground.
Tails.
"Well," Armando said, pocketing it. "Left it is."
***
The tunnel sloped downward sharply.
Strange markings crawled along the walls and ceiling now—deep grooves, unnatural curves that seemed to twist when stared at too long.
No crying.
Just their footsteps.
Then—
A sob.
They froze instantly.
"Sir…" a soldier whispered. "Is that one of the missing kids?"
Armando raised his fist—a hand signal for silence.
Something was wrong.
He clicked off his flashlight.
One by one, the others did the same.
Total darkness.
Armando lay flat against the ground, pressing his ear to the soil, mouth open.
However there was nothing. No vibration—no movement.
Then the crying stopped mid-sob.
Like a recording cut short.
Armando slowly lifted up his head. He quietly stood up and readied his rifle.
He nudged the soldier behind him. They formed a line. Everyone with their rifles raised now, ready to fire.
Breaths shallow.
Heartbeats thunderous.
Then—
Flashlights on.
***
The ground shook.
Gunfire echoed faintly from below.
Incarceratus felt his stomach drop.
Something had gone terribly wrong.