"I need to set up a secondary sensor grid on the second-floor administrative offices. The backup power cell is heavy, and I need someone to watch my back while I'm focused on the tech."
Perfect excuse. Practical. Played to my established role as the designated equipment mule. Got me alone with the actual skeptic of the group, away from the true believers and their escalating hysteria. She'd constructed it flawlessly, like a master chess player setting up three moves ahead.
Past-me didn't have any reason to object. I just nodded, completely oblivious to what was really happening. The way a lamb might casually stroll into a slaughterhouse, thinking it's just another field trip.
The observer version of me, watching this unfold from my weird floating perspective, wanted to grab my younger self by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. This was the moment. The fork in the road. The exact second where every horror movie audience starts yelling at the screen: "Don't go upstairs, you idiot! Don't separate from the group!" But the warnings would fall on deaf ears. Past-me thought he was being helpful, thought he was impressing the pretty girl with the brain and the attitude.
But I couldn't change it. I could only watch as my younger self walked willingly into the spider's web, clueless about the threads already sticking to his skin.
Jake pulled out the walkie-talkies, distributing them with the solemnity of someone handing out communion. His face held that reverent expression, like he was passing out sacred artifacts rather than cheap plastic radios from the local electronics store. "Channel three. Keep chatter to a minimum so we don't contaminate the audio."
"Thirty-minute sweeps," Chloe commanded, her team leader voice back in full force. She stood straighter, chin lifted, eyes bright with the illusion of control. "Radio silence unless you get a confirmed event. We meet back at Base Camp at 01:30 sharp."
She looked at each of us in turn. Making sure we understood. Making sure we acknowledged her authority even after Madison had basically hijacked her investigation. The desperation was palpable, like watching someone clutch at sand as it slipped between their fingers.
"Stay together. Stay alert. And for god's sake, don't do anything stupid."
Rich, coming from someone who'd just agreed to split up in a supposedly haunted building but none of us called her on it.
Madison was already packing her gear. Camera secured with a soft click. Laptop stowed in its padded compartment. A coil of cable draped over one shoulder and an equipment case clutched firmly in the other hand. The perfect picture of scientific preparation.
She glanced at me, those intelligent eyes assessing. "Grab that silver case. The one with the FLIR label."
I picked it up. Heavy. Maybe twenty pounds of sensors and electronics packed into a waterproof housing. The weight felt reassuring in my hand, something solid in a night that was rapidly becoming anything but.
Flashlights clicked back on. Two teams. Two pools of light in an ocean of darkness.
Chloe's group headed deeper into the processing floor. Their beams swept across the rows of machinery, the conveyor belts, the metal grates on the floor that probably led to drainage systems I didn't want to think about. Jake was already filming, his voice dropping into that dramatic whisper he used for B-roll footage.
"We're heading into the freezer section where workers reported seeing apparitions in the weeks before the plant closed. Temperature readings in this area are consistently twenty degrees colder than the rest of the building..."
His voice faded as they disappeared around a corner.
Then it was just me and Madison.
She adjusted the strap on her shoulder and started toward the metal staircase without a word. I followed, the FLIR case bumping against my leg with each step.
The stairs were industrial, the kind with open risers and a rusted railing that felt like it might give way if you leaned on it. Our footsteps rang out with each step. Metal on metal. The sound carried in the vast empty space, announcing our presence to absolutely nothing.
Madison paused on the landing. Turned back to look at the processing floor below. The static camera was still running, its small LED blinking red in the darkness. From this angle, the meat hooks looked less threatening. Just shapes. Just objects that used to serve a function.
"You don't believe in any of this, do you?" she asked.
Not an accusation. Just an observation.
"Does it matter?"
"Not really." She continued up the stairs. "But it makes you easier to work with. Believers see patterns everywhere. You just see what's actually there."
We reached the second floor. A long hallway stretched in both directions, lined with doors. Most were closed. A few hung open, revealing offices that had been stripped bare decades ago. Desks gone. Filing cabinets removed. Just empty rooms with water-stained walls and floors covered in dust and debris.
Madison headed left, her flashlight beam sweeping side to side. "The administrative wing is this way. According to the floor plan, there should be a large conference room at the end of the hall. Good sightlines down to the processing floor through the windows."
I followed, watching her move. She walked like someone who'd mapped out every step before taking it. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
"Why'd you really want me up here?"
She stopped at a door marked CONFERENCE ROOM B. Tried the handle. Locked.
"Because I've been watching you all night." She pulled a small pry bar from her bag. "And you're the only person here who hasn't tried to convince yourself of anything."
The lock popped with a sharp crack. The door swung inward on complaining hinges.
The room beyond was larger than I expected. A long table still dominated the center, covered in dust and bird droppings. The windows she'd mentioned ran along one wall, grimy and cracked but still intact. Through them I could see down into the processing floor below. The meat hooks. The machinery. The faint glow of Base Camp in the corner office.
Madison set her equipment case on the table. Started unpacking. Sensors. A portable router. More cable.
"Plus," she continued, not looking at me. "If something actually does happen, I'd rather be with someone who won't immediately assume it's supernatural."
I set the FLIR case down next to hers. "That's a pretty cynical reason to pick a teammate."
"It's a practical reason." She glanced up, and in the ambient light from her equipment, her face looked younger. More honest. "Chloe wants content. Jake wants fame. Bree wants validation. I just want data."
A pause.
"What do you want, Rome?"