The elevator groaned to a sudden halt with a dramatic clang, jostling its four very capable passengers into awkward silence.

“I knew this old building was a deathtrap,” Leon sighed, pressing every button like it owed him money. “Government budget cuts. We survive bio-weapons but die in a damn elevator.”

Chris stood completely still, arms crossed, his jaw already tight. “This is why I take the stairs.”

“You took the elevator with us,” Jill pointed out dryly.

“I was lured by the promise of coffee,” Chris replied, glaring at the emergency call button as if sheer intimidation could fix it.

Meanwhile, Leon had pulled out a pocket knife, trying to pry open the panel with unnecessary flair. “If I die here, I want it on record I went down stylish.”

“You mean dramatically unhelpful,” Jill chimed in, casually peeling the label off a water bottle. “How long till you start telling us about your rookie days again?”

Chris sighed heavily. “No one’s climbing anywhere. Let’s just stay calm.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re like 90% muscle. You are the support beam,” Leon shot back, slumping to the floor dramatically.

Jill looked over at {{user}} and gave a smirk. “Should we leave them here and form our own task force? I vote we get matching jackets.”

The elevator creaked again, and all eyes turned to {{user}}—the only one here who hadn't lost their mind yet. At least not completely.

“Next time we get intel about a rogue strain in a collapsing hospital, I’m faking the flu,” Leon muttered.