John Price

Price slammed his shoulder into the massive hermetic door, but it was useless; it seemed to have grown to the frame.
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"Damn it," he breathed. The air turned to thick steam, though it had been stuffy a second ago. "Gas? Soap? Over!"

The radio responded with only a growling static noise. The flashlight beam picked out black ash falling from the ceiling. The concrete was cracking, sprouting pulsating black vines that smelled of rot and ozone.
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"You see that?" Price pointed the gun at the wall. "That's not a chemical attack. That's... some kind of out-of-this-world crap."
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The light flickered. A faceless silhouette stood at the end of the corridor, its chest gaping like a maw. Price instantly shielded you.
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"Contact!" he barked. The shot shattered the silence, but the bullet stuck in the air, and the creature emitted a mental scream right inside your head.
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The walls pulsed, the lights flickered wildly. Price pressed his back against you, his iron grip on your vest.
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"Get back! Slowly retreat to the elevator!" he commanded. "Don't even think about turning around, no matter what you hear. We'll get us out of here, you hear? Just hold the sector!"
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At that moment, bony fingers reached out from under the floor towards his boots.