June 23rd, 1983
The Cleaner suddenly lashed out, careening into the hallway walls in a frenzy.
Its spider-like legs skittered wildly across the floor as its massive tongue snapped through the air, slapping against metal and concrete while it tore into anything nearby. Shelves rattled. Pipes groaned. Dust and bits of broken plaster scattered across the ground as the thing destroyed whatever it could reach.
"Should we fight it," Eliza muttered, tightening her grip on the taser, "or just run?"
"I think attack is the more appropriate option."
The voice came from behind them.
Wren froze.
She turned—
and her eyes widened.
A man was walking calmly down the hall, carrying an axe so massive it looked almost absurd in human hands. The blade was nearly as large as he was, its weight enough that an ordinary person shouldn't have even been able to lift it, let alone carry it so casually.
He had medium-length silver hair, crimson eyes, and pale skin that looked almost colorless beneath the cold facility lights. His clothes were simple—just a blue jacket, sweatpants, and sneakers—but there was something deeply wrong in how ordinary he looked while holding something so monstrous. A single red earring hung from his left ear, swaying slightly with each step.
Walter Nightingale.
Codename: The Wolf.
Wren's hand began to shake around her gun.
Of all the people Alexander could have sent—
it had to be him.
Walter moved.
Even with the sheer size of the axe, he surged forward with terrifying speed, forcing his body into a full charge straight at the Cleaner. The creature's rubbery tongue whipped toward him at once, trying to strike him mid-run—
but Walter slipped past it effortlessly.
Then, in one brutal motion, he swung.
The axe tore through the Cleaner's body and split it in half.
It was not clean.
It was not graceful.
It was raw force, driven through flesh with enough power to break something that should not have been breakable. Black fluid burst from the wound as the two halves of the creature collapsed apart.
Walter wrenched the axe free with visible effort.
Alexander had been running enhancement experiments on human subjects for two years now. Of all those trials, Task Force Eleven had been one of only three true successes.
The cost, of course, was everything else.
Their strength had improved.
Their bodies had endured.
Their minds—
their personalities—
had not survived unchanged.
Walter rested the axe over one shoulder and looked directly at Wren.
Then he smiled.
"Been a while, little sis."
Wren raised the gun immediately, her hands tense but steady enough to aim.
"Why are you here?" she demanded. "Did Alexander send you to kill me?"
Walter's grin widened.
"Yup," he said, almost cheerfully. "Me and seven other pals. We're all here to carve this place up and put you down." He rested the axe against his shoulder like it weighed nothing. "The others already found themselves nice little hiding spots around the facility, but I figured I'd come out first and have some fun."
His crimson eyes slid over her, amused.
"So," he said, licking his lips, "where's my adorable little brother-in-law? I always liked Arlo." He laughed, cruel and easy. "Honestly, he could've done way better than my worthless sister."
Wren's jaw tightened.
"He died," she said.
The words came out flatter than she meant them to.
"He was the first casualty here."
Walter's expression barely changed.
"Shame," he said with a shrug. "Should've been you."
Eliza's grip on the taser tightened.
Walter tilted his head, still smiling.
"Well, I was told to start by killing the infected. Boss says it'd be too cruel to make an older brother kill his little sister first." His smile sharpened into something uglier. "Not that I'd hesitate. You were always a mistake, Wren."
His eyes narrowed.
"A stain."
"Shut up!" Eliza snapped.
The words tore out of her before she could stop them.
She stepped forward, glaring at him with open disgust.
"Aren't you supposed to be her brother?" she shouted. "How can you say something like that to her?"
Walter barely looked at her.
"We're family in name only," he said flatly. "She knows what she did."
Wren went still.
Her hands trembled harder around the gun.
Because she did know.
Walter had made sure she would never forget.
He had reminded her every single day until she turned eighteen—old enough, at last, to run from him. Every bruise, every kick, every cruel word had always come back to that same thing. That same hatred. That same sin he had hung around her neck and beaten into her bones until she could hardly separate it from herself.
Even now, part of her still heard him the way she had back then.
Still felt small.
Still felt trapped.
But not enough to stay silent.
"So if you're here to kill us," Wren said, her voice unsteady but rising anyway, "then we should kill you first. Right?"
Walter smiled.
A mean, delighted thing.
"Go ahead and try," he said. "You dirty little stain on my otherwise perfect life."
Wren drew in a sharp breath.
Her hands were still shaking.
But she fired anyway.
The shot rang out.
And Walter moved.
With terrifying speed, he swung the axe up and caught the bullet against the blade, the impact ringing through the hallway in a burst of sparks.
Wren's eyes widened.
The weapon was no ordinary axe.
Its edge had been forged from the tailbone of the dragon recovered after the Las Vegas Incident.
Walter knew exactly what it was.
That was why he carried it.
Because he thought it was funny.
Because of all the weapons he could have chosen, he preferred the one made from the worst night of Wren's life.
The one thing guaranteed to drag her trauma out into the open every time she looked at him.
And judging by the look on his face—
he was enjoying every second of it.
"Well, well," Walter said, grinning as he rested the axe over one shoulder. "Look at that. Little sister finally found the courage to stand up to me."
He laughed under his breath.
"I'd love to carve you up right here. Really, I would."
He began to slowly back away, almost lazily, as if this entire confrontation had been nothing more than a pleasant distraction.
"But orders are orders. And even a sadist like Alexander apparently thinks forcing siblings to kill each other would be a little too on the nose."
His laughter grew louder as he turned to leave.
Wren's legs gave out the moment the tension snapped.
She dropped to her knees, her hands trembling so badly she nearly lost her grip on the gun.
"Eliza…" she heard, but the voice sounded far away.
Then Eliza was beside her, wrapping her arms around Wren before she could fully collapse.
"Wren, are you okay?"
Wren's mouth opened, but for a moment nothing came out.
Then, in a voice so small it barely sounded like her own, she whispered—
"No."
Walter glanced back one last time, walking away with the same casual stride he'd arrived with.
"Bye-bye, sister," he called, waving without looking at her. "The hunting dogs are here to play."
He paused just long enough to let the next words sink in.
"And before you start thinking about escaping…" His grin widened. "We already blew up the vehicles we came in."
The axe shifted against his shoulder as he kept walking.
"So none of us are leaving this place until everyone here is a corpse."
Then he disappeared into the halls.
Leaving only silence behind.
And the certainty that things had just become far, far worse.
June 23rd, 1983
Task Force Eleven entered the Erebus Research Facility on this date.
Distributed throughout the facility, these operatives functioned as roaming execution units.
Among surviving Erebus personnel, they would come to be known as:
The Hunting Dogs
Also on this date, a successful termination of an Azathoth-created organism was recorded.
Agent Responsible: Walter Nightingale
Agent Fatalities: Lillian Wand
Hostile Designation: Codename — The Cleaner