It began as a routine mission. Boredom seemed the greatest threat. The squad entered a dense forest, nameless and Eastern European. Our maps, outdated, didn’t hint at surprises. Intel declared no hostiles—a standard patrol. The forest grew silent. No birds. No rustling. Just boots crunching and radio static. Soon, we found it: a rusted steel door. It lay hidden in a hillside, moss-covered and vine-wrapped. Though decades old, its hinges shone, freshly oiled. “On the map?” Danner asked. He knew the answer. “Negative,” Cole replied, unease showing. “Stay sharp. We’re going in.” The door groaned open. A staircase descended into darkness. The air chilled, metallic and damp. Danner switched his flashlight on, the beam cutting blackness. “Smells like death,” he muttered. “Old Soviet site, maybe,” Cole suggested. His tone doubted the words. “Stay close. Radios on.” The stairs led to steel-walled halls. Symbols, jagged and uneven, marred the metal. They weren’t Cyrillic or familiar. “Gibberish...