Chapter 2

The Nevada sun spilled through the shattered dome of the ground-level research station, stinging the eyes. It was a stark contrast to my dim basement, littered with the deep treads of armored vehicle tracks and the cold, trademark blue uniforms of the GCC (Global Cooperation Coalition).

I leaned against the rusted ventilation shaft, empty-handed, feeling a bit out of place. I watched the squad file in, the air thick with the arrogant stench of "elite."

Leading them was Marcus Webb, now a General in the GCC. He looked more withered than he had a century ago, his eyes like cold coins. I recognized his profile; the signal corpsman who used to cower behind his radio, trembling, was now a man who could command storms. I stood in the shadows, able to smell the expensive drying agents on his clothes.

"Sir, this is the spot?" came a young voice. Lucas Rex. He wore the crisp dress uniform of the military academy, his amber eyes filled with the fanatical zeal of exploring the unknown.

"This is it," Webb said, his voice a metallic rasp. "A forgotten, worthless storage pit."

He turned, his peripheral vision sweeping toward me with surgical precision. For a heartbeat, the muscles around his pupils spasmed—fear, or perhaps the guilt squeezed out by decades. He stared at me with deliberate detachment, as if I were some ubiquitous piece of filth-covered discarded equipment.

"Unauthorized personnel, leave this area immediately," Webb said coldly, giving me no room to speak.

"This is public land, General," I lowered my voice, trying to remind him of the current reality.

"I don't have time for your drivel." Webb snapped his fingers. Before I could finish, two massive special-ops soldiers charged, twisting my arms violently and dragging me toward the exit. I didn't resist, allowing them to toss me onto the gravel-strewn ground. To men living in the hothouse of power, truth is a lethal poison. If he wanted to pretend he didn't know me, I’d indulge him.

Complex scanning equipment was quickly set up inside the station. The technicians, wearing expensive tactical headsets, pointed fingers at the steel door. Their brutal sampling techniques caused the door to emit an angry, visceral buzz, the white mist pouring out like a punctured hive.

"Data spikes! There’s some kind of high-density unknown radiation here!" an expert screamed, his face blanched.

Webb directed the show with a stone face, speaking into his terminal to headquarters: "Objective site is complex. We are facing resistance; we require deeper contact."

The response from HQ was instantaneous, scrolling across the main display—cold, devoid of heat: "Need a living signal source to enter the conduit to assist in locating the deep-level interference center... the Rex boy will do."

I was sitting fifty meters outside the station. Through the ventilation ducts, I heard their entire conversation. Lucas sounded confused, pointing at the circular emblem on the door. "Sir, they said this place was called 'The Coffin'? What does that mean?"

The scanning technician shrugged, his expression indifferent. "That word isn't in the archives. Probably just some dark humor from the ancient construction crew. Don't waste time, kid—ready your neural coupler."

Late at night, the camp was dead silent, save for the cold light bleeding from the research station like graveyard candles.

I sat by an abandoned water tower, leaning against the cold spinal-support frame. I fished out a can of cheap beer and popped the ring.

Click.

The sound carried surprisingly far in the open wild.

Inside the makeshift barracks, Lucas sat up. He was a kid who hadn't learned how to be afraid yet, but he could feel it—the "Coffin," unrecorded and forgotten, was emitting a hungry, seductive lure.

Click.

I popped another one.

He was probably wondering: what was that sound from the bunker? Was it the warping of metal, or some ancient relic long forgotten by the world, laughing at their ignorance?

Click.

I stared at the haunting blue window of the barracks, listening to his heavy, fragmented breathing. The more he struggled to sleep, the more spectacular tomorrow’s performance would be. That door... it had been far too long since it finished a meal.