As soon as Hatfield opened the door, Saladana shoved him out of the transport van and into the dirt in front of the old mansion.

The younger man hit the ground with a thud, as Sal Dana cackled insanely, his cracked lips peeling back over his rotting teeth.

He turned his cold eyes to me in the back seat as he laughed. My expression didn't change. Jesus Christ, it's like dealing with

children, Dr. Haney said from the front seat, speaking to the driver. Just get out of the van.

I said to Sal Dana, I wasn't about to get out before him and have the idiot shove me. The older man

stopped laughing, fixing me with his best killer stare. I rolled my eyes.

Maybe he'd been scary as a younger man, but now he was gray-haired and skinny, probably six

months away from death due to some disease that he surely deserved.

Get out of the van, five, the driver said. otherwise known as d 50453 stepped out into the pale

afternoon sunlight hatfield a kid in his early 20s who looked like a dull-minded surfer was brushing

off his orange jumpsuit as soon as saldanna stepped out of the van, the younger man spun

on him, slamming him against the van.

I'm going to shit down your neck on a Wednesday afternoon, Atfield said, trying and failing

to sound menacing. This prompted another bout of laughter from Sal Dana and made me chuckle

as I got out of the van. There were three other

foundation vehicles parked in front of the abandoned mansion, turned to hotel. Guys in full

tactical gear were standing around, getting situated, talking. Dr. Haney, now out of the van, stepped

over to us. All right, he said, holding out our earpieces in one hand.

You know what you need to do.

You've seen the floor plans.

You're to go directly to that room on the third floor.

Do not dawdle.

...