INT. STORM DRAINS – NIGHT Water dripped endlessly. The stench of mildew and rot clung to the air. Lena led the way, flashlight beam cutting through thick darkness, her fingers trailing along damp, mossy walls. Behind her, Briggs moaned faintly, delirious. Ward and the Girl shared the weight of his body between them. "This place is a tomb." "Good. Maybe the dead will ignore it." INT. STORM DRAINS – MOMENTS LATER They reached a fork. The left tunnel was wide, shallow, filled with old graffiti and bones. The right narrowed sharply, barely big enough to crawl through. A distant whisper curled through the left tunnel—garbled, yet human. VOICE (faint, distant): Lena froze. So did Ward. "Either way, someone's still breathing." They voted—silently—and turned left. INT. STORM DRAINS – GRAFFITI PASSAGE They moved slowly now. The voice grew clearer, repeating a single phrase: "Room 6. They're in Room 6." It echoed as if on a loop. Suddenly—CLANK. A pipe fell behind them. All light blinked out. "Stay still. Don't make a sound." Then they heard it: breathing. Ragged. Close. Too close. A figure shifted from the shadows. Gaunt. Not quite a zombie, but not right either. Eyes sunken, body trembling. "They hear whispers too... once you've heard it, you can't unhear it." UNKNOWN MAN (smiling): "The voice… It's not human anymore." Suddenly, he lunged at Ward, knife flashing. The Girl screamed. Lena fired—bang—the man collapsed. The whisper didn't stop. INT. DEEPER IN THE DRAINS – SHORTLY AFTER They reached a round chamber. Chains hung from the ceiling. Scrawled in blood across the wall: "The Whispers Feed." Briggs stirred, eyes bloodshot. "I heard them. Last night. Calling my name." "It's in your head. Just the infection messing with you." But Lena wasn't sure anymore. "If these things can talk… and think… what are we fighting?" Suddenly, all their flashlights flickered—then died. A whisper echoed inches from Lena's ear—no voice box, no breath, just sound: "We remember your screams, Lena." EXT. ABOVE GROUND – NIGHT Somewhere on the surface, in a broken surveillance outpost, monitors blinked alive. Each showed grainy footage of tunnels. A figure in a dark coat leaned closer, smiling. "They made it to the Whisper Nest." He scribbled something into a notebook titled: INT. STORM DRAINS – FINAL MOMENTS Lena clutched her knife tighter. The Girl held Briggs close, Ward scanned the pitch black. The whispers grew louder. Calling them by name.