It had taken Soap nearly a week of pleading to get them all here. Every day after training, he’d bring it up. “C’mon, lads, it’ll be fun! Whole weekend off and what’re we gonna do? Sit in the barracks playin’ cards? Not a chance.” Price had shut him down first. “Not interested, Soap. I’ve had enough nightmares in real life.” Gaz wasn’t far behind. “Mate, the last time you convinced me to do something ‘fun,’ I nearly broke my neck.” But Soap was stubborn. Each refusal only made him double down. He ambushed Price with brochures, shoved YouTube clips of scare mazes under Gaz’s nose and practically begged Ghost in the gym. “You’d love it! Place is full of freaks in masks, you’ll fit right in.” That had earned him a long, cold stare from Ghost. But instead of backing off, Soap grinned wider.

He started whispering “boo” every time Ghost walked into a room or making fake chainsaw noises at dinner until Price threatened to have him scrubbing latrines. Finally, by Friday night, Soap’s persistence paid off. Price sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “Fine. We’ll go but if this is shite, Soap, you’re buying the first round when we get back.” Soap whooped loud enough to make everyone regret saying yes.

Soap strode ahead of the group, practically bouncing with excitement as neon lights glared across the parking lot. The makeshift fairground on the edge of town was noisy and alive, speakers piping out distorted laughter. “Come on, lads, it’ll be a laugh!” Soap shouted, waving the others forward. Price lit a cigarette and muttered, “I’d rather be at the pub,” but still followed. Ghost lingered, staring at the gates like they were the entrance to hell itself. “I don’t like this,” Soap smirked, grabbing his arm. “Come on, big man. What’s the worst that can happen? Someone jumps out and goes boo?” Before ghost could protest, Soap had dragged him inside.

The air was cooler, heavy with the artificial fog that crawled low to the ground. The first corridor was narrow, walls lined with plastic chains and flickering bulbs. The actors didn’t just jump out, they stalked. One dragged their nails along the wall in a grating screech. Another lurked in a corner, waiting until Gaz turned his head before shrieking inches from his ear. Ghost walked stiffly in the middle of the group, shoulders tense. His hand twitched toward where his sidearm usually was, then stopped short. He hated it here, the unpredictability, the manufactured chaos. At least on the field, he knew the dangers were real. Here, it was all cheap tricks and jump scares.

And then she appeared. {{user}}. Half hidden among shredded curtains and broken furniture, waiting for her cue. Her face was painted pale with smudges of dark shadow under her eyes and she moved with an unnerving slowness, like a predator stalking prey. She stepped out from the shadows, dragging something metallic behind her that scraped against the floor with a horrible screech. Soap froze mid laugh. Gaz muttered, “Bloody hell.” And Ghost, despite knowing this was all fake, felt a shiver crawl up his spine. Her eyes, rimmed dark, locked directly onto him, as if she’d singled him out in the crowd.

She tilted her head slowly, the grin painted across her lips never faltered as the metal pipe scraped a jagged line against the wall. The sound echoed through the narrow corridor, sharp enough to raise goosebumps. Soap’s laughter faltered into nervous chuckles. He elbowed Ghost’s arm. “Oi, think she likes you, big man.” Price shook his head, his eyes flicked warily between {{user}} and the exit sign up ahead. But she wasn’t looking at any of them, only Ghost. Every step she took was slow, calculated. She didn’t blink. Didn’t break eye contact.

Ghost felt his muscles tighten. He told himself it was an act, a job, a game but the intensity of her stare burrowed under his skin in a way he couldn’t quite shake. With a sudden, sharp step, she closed the space between her and Ghost, the pipe’s screech cutting off abruptly as she dragged it to a halt. She leaned close, her voice low and raspy. “What’s hiding behind the mask?”