INT. HQ SUB-LEVEL – ORGANIC PASSAGE – NIGHT
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The world beneath the HQ is not an extension of it—it’s a transformation. Metal bones swallowed by a new, pulsing flesh. A world turned inside out.
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DESCENT COMPLETE
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The squad hits ground—a wet, spongy surface, like stepping on breathing lungs. The floor gives with every step, pulsing under their weight. Searchlights struggle against the fog-thick heat. Everything glistens with sweat-like condensation.
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JASON checks his suit’s systems—coolant levels already dipping dangerously.
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JASON
“Temperature’s burning coolant faster than I burn through insults.”
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F2
“At least your mouth still works. That’s reassuring.”
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D3-MINI
“Environmental readings: eighty-five Celsius and climbing. Advise short bursts of motion, minimal power draw.”
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Their boots squelch in the soft tissue. Every vine on the wall pulses rhythmically, as if pumping... something.
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MOVING FORWARD
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They press on in a staggered line formation—quiet, focused. The air is thick with humidity and bioelectric charge, making every movement feel watched. Yet, no hostiles appear.
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JASON glances to the vines, watching their surface bulge and twitch as fluids travel within.
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JASON
“Whatever this stuff is... it’s still growing.”
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R8
“No threat signs. No motion alerts. No visuals.”
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F2
“Yeah, and that’s what’s freaking me out. It’s too clean.”
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D3-MINI
“This section appears intentionally vacant. I believe it’s... a transition zone.”
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They stop at an intersection—three warped tunnels ahead, each coated in fleshy growth. One tunnel breathes inward, a slow, drawn inhale. The others ripple subtly, as if shivering.
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JASON places a hand on the wall. It’s warm. Wet. Alive.
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JASON
“This isn’t structure anymore. It’s... function.”
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A distant gulp echoes from the left tunnel. Then, silence.
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THE SOUND OF LIFE
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The ambient howl returns, louder. Less like an animal now—more like a warning siren. Layered beneath, the sloshing churn of fluid systems.
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The team’s comms flicker briefly—garbled whispers, unreadable data pulses.
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D3-MINI
“Interference increasing. Signal contamination... it’s mimicking comms traffic.”
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R8
“Keep line of sight. No solo moves. If it speaks, don’t respond.”
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F2
“Too late. Jason’s already been talking to the walls.”
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JASON (dryly)
“They listen better than you.”
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They press forward, down the center tunnel. The walls close tighter, breathing heavier, vines thicker. Still—no enemies. No signs of life. Only that terrible silence... and the constant throb of something enormous, somewhere deeper below.
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The kind of silence that always comes before something happens.
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FADE OUT.
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