Descending

JP with Jaxx, Redsword, Trustno1 and Cindy

Agent Powers was slightly nodding his head to the music. he had never heard this song before but he found it catchy. Ekaterina elegantly smiled as she looked at Agent Powers getting enlightened in older music. She liked how he was pure and malleable unlike the men who merely wanted her as a trophy wife. She was not liking the idea of being a trophy for anyone but she did like the idea guiding Agent Powers to be guy she could manipulate to be her ideal lover. It also helped that they had a lot in common and he gave her lots of respect and attention. She asked, "Do you like that song Mr. Powers?" Agent Powers nodded as he replied, "Its catchy. I'll check out their other music after this mission."

"Is everyone ready to continue heading down the stairs, I have a feeling that whatever will help us solve this mystery is down there." said Sartre.

Agent Powers gave Sartre a smolder then paused before he replied, "Hold on a sec." Ekaterina looked at Agent Powers with concern as she saw him dig into his pockets and then pull out some golden bullets. He handed her some ammo and then began reloading his holy golden shotgun with golden holy bullets. Ekaterina realized she needed to reload as well then proceeded to load her mini pump shotgun as well. and then put the extra ammo in her pockets. Ekaterina replied elegantly, "Thank you Mr. Powers." Agent Powers nodded and said, "No problem. don't drop your guard. I got a bad feeling our enemies are getting stronger."

"You ready to go?" Sartre asked the hacker.

"I'm ready." Alyssa replied.

The stairwell yawned like the throat of some great and slumbering beast, its gullet descending into pure, unrelenting darkness. No lights marked their path; the overhead fixtures had long since died, their glass shells cracked and useless. The shadows were absolute, so thick they felt tangible, brushing against faces and shoulders like cobwebs. The only illumination came in fleeting pulses—ghostly glimmers from the dying embers of the world above, filtering through cracks in the walls and slithering down like some reluctant guide.

Concrete walls, once pristine, now bore the wounds of time. Long, jagged fissures stretched like veins, bleeding trails of mildew and condensation that gathered in dark pools along the landings. The air hung heavy, saturated with the metallic tang of rust, the sour bite of mold, and a faint, coppery undercurrent that evoked memories of blood.

Each step groaned underfoot, the iron stairs complaining with a hollow, metallic echo that ricocheted into the blackness below and vanished without a trace. The railings, slick with moisture, were frigid to the touch, their surfaces corroded into sharp, jagged ridges. The dampness clung to everything, saturating skin and fabric alike, as if the building itself sought to consume all who dared enter its depths.

On the third landing, the darkness thickened, coagulating into shapes that defied comprehension. Vague outlines shifted at the periphery of vision—long-limbed, hunched forms that seemed to skitter away the moment one tried to focus. The walls bore grim graffiti: smeared symbols that might have been words, or perhaps just the aimless scrawls of the unhinged. One phrase, carved deep and uneven, stood out: "We see you."

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint sound of water dripping somewhere far below. The drips fell in uneven rhythms, each one a jarring punctuation to the stillness. Occasionally, a distant thud echoed through the stairwell, like something heavy being moved in the bowels of the building, though no source could be discerned.

The stairs spiraled downward, a labyrinthine descent that seemed to stretch longer than the building’s modest exterior should have allowed. The very geometry of the place felt wrong, angles too sharp, shadows too deep, as though reality itself was beginning to fray.

At the final landing, the smell hit—a noxious cocktail of rotting wood, spoiled meat, and something acrid that burned the back of the throat. The basement door loomed before them, a slab of warped metal marred by deep scratches, as if something had clawed at it, desperate to escape—or to get inside.

And then, as if conjured by the building itself, they appeared.

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