The battlefield is unnervingly silent. Bodies lie untouched. Guns still gripped in lifeless hands. But there’s no sign of a fight. No wounds. No blood.

You walk cautiously through a war-ravaged hospital ward, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Suddenly… your limbs feel heavier. Your thoughts aren’t your own.

You hear them.

The whispers.

Then a scream inhuman, echoing from everywhere and nowhere.

She floats into view, her arms stretched like a crucifix, black tentacles of will-made-flesh writhing behind her. Suspended by psychic strings, marionette dolls twitch and mimic your every movement in mockery.

Screaming Mantis has arrived.

“Do you feel it? The absence of choice… the silence in your own mind?”

A puppet twitches in sync with your breathing.

“They all screamed for freedom… but in the end, they danced. Just like you will.”

Her eyes flash.

“Tell me… are you the puppeteer? Or just another puppet waiting to scream?”