The soldiers advanced carefully, boots scraping against damp stone, rifles raised, breaths shallow and controlled. The tunnel ahead narrowed, the ceiling getting lower and the walls closing in.
One of the men reached into his belt and pulled out another lightstick. With a flick, he snapped it to life and tossed it forward.
The stick arced through the air and struck stone with a hollow clack.
It bounced once. Then rolled to a stop.
A wall.
A dead end.
The red glow spilled across bare rock, revealing nothing but solid stone ahead of them. No cracks. No openings. No signs of recent collapse. Just an abrupt, unnatural end, as if the tunnel had never been meant to go further.
The squad slowed… then stopped entirely.
No one spoke at first.
The tunnel was silent again, save for the hum of equipment and the distant drip of water somewhere far behind them.
Finally, one of the team leaders raised his voice.
"Dead end. That's it."
The squad regrouped, confusion rippling through their ranks. This didn't make sense. The cries had led them here. The tremors. The gunfire. Something should have been here.
After a brief exchange of glances, the team leader lifted his radio.
"Commander, this is Alpha-Left. We've reached a dead end. No visual on hostiles. No further tunnel access."
Static answered him.
He frowned and tried again.
Nothing.
Further back, another soldier adjusted his headset. "Sir… I'm not getting anything either."
The team leader's jaw tightened. He switched frequencies, cycling through channels, trying direct lines, emergency bands—still nothing.
Up above, the Lieutenants attempted the same.
They called the Commander's line repeatedly. Once. Twice. Five times.
No answer.
Without orders, protocol took over.
The soldiers, their respective team leaders, and the Lieutenants made the call themselves: secure the area, spread out, and search for the Commander.
They moved quickly, but cautiously, retracing their steps through the tunnel system, weapons sweeping every shadow.
It didn't take long before someone shouted.
"Sir! Over here!"
They found him lying on the stone floor, half-curled on his side.
Commander Incarceratus.
His skin was pale—almost snow white. Sweat soaked his uniform, darkening the fabric at his chest and back. His breathing was shallow and uneven, lips parted as if he were gasping for air he couldn't quite reach.
One of the soldiers dropped to a knee and pressed two fingers to the Commander's neck.
"I've got a pulse," he said quickly. "Weak, but it's there."
Another shook Incarceratus's shoulder. "Sir! Commander! Can you hear me?"
No response.
His eyes were closed, brow furrowed in pain, fingers twitching faintly against the stone.
"Get medics down here NOW!" a Lieutenant barked into his radio.
Within minutes, medical personnel rushed in, their movements sharp and efficient despite the tension hanging thick in the air. They stabilized the Commander, lifted him onto a stretcher, and began moving him toward the surface.
As they worked, one of the medics pulled out his phone.
"Emergency contact?" he asked.
The screen lit up with a single name.
Commander Jeanne Ancora.
The call connected almost immediately.
Her voice came through, sharp with concern. "This is Ancora."
"Commander, this is medical personnel from the canalization operation. Commander Incarceratus has been found unconscious. We're transporting him to the surface."
A pause.
Then, tightly controlled: "I'm on my way."
***
Lieutenant Vage stood alone near the intersection, the tunnel lights casting long shadows across his tall, slender frame.
With Incarceratus evacuated, command had fallen to him.
Vage ran a hand through his blond hair, pacing slowly, boots crunching faintly against gravel. Dark rings sat beneath his pale blue eyes, evidence of sleepless nights and mounting pressure.
The right-side team still hadn't returned.
He checked his watch for the third time in less than a minute.
"Where the hell are you…" he muttered.
As if summoned by his thoughts, his radio sent out a signal.
He snatched it up. "Lieutenant Vage."
"Sir," a team leader's voice crackled through, strained and breathless. "We need medical backup immediately. We've… found one of the missing soldiers."
Vage straightened instantly. "Alive?"
A hesitation.
"…I don't know, sir."
"Location?"
The coordinates came quickly.
Vage didn't hesitate. He turned and barked orders into his radio, calling medics down from the surface. Within moments, the tunnel filled again with hurried footsteps and clipped voices.
They emerged carrying a body.
The soldier's face was twisted in agony, mouth frozen open in a silent scream. His eyes were rolled completely white, veins standing out sharply against ashen skin.
But it was his neck that made several soldiers avert their gaze.
The aorta was swollen, bulging grotesquely beneath the skin.
And inside it—
Something black pulsed.
Slowly.
Rhythmically.
Like a second heart.
Vage swallowed hard.
"Where's the rest of the squad?" he asked quietly.
The team leader shook his head. "No sign of them. No sign of Constable Armando either."
Silence followed them back to the surface.
***
Above ground, the emergency area buzzed with controlled chaos.
Medic Sano stood over the stretcher, hands steady despite the shock tightening his chest.
He was young, short, with light skin and curly hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His green eyes darted between monitors as he worked through procedure after procedure.
Something wasn't right.
He checked the vitals again.
Then again.
His breath caught.
"…What?"
He leaned closer, listening, feeling, measuring.
"He's dead," Sano whispered. "His heart stopped a long time ago."
Then his eyes snapped to the monitor.
"But he's breathing," he said louder, disbelief creeping into his voice. "I— I don't understand. His lungs are moving. His muscles are… twitching."
He stepped back, shaking his head.
"This shouldn't be possible."
He turned sharply. "Dr. Avaritia!"
Dr. Avaritia approached with measured steps.
She was tall, her purple hair tied neatly back, round glasses perched on her nose. Her expression was sharp, calculating—almost eager.
"What is it, Sano?" she asked coolly.
"He—he shouldn't be alive," Sano said. "I double-checked everything. His heart stopped, but—"
She cut him off with a dismissive wave. "Then you must have measured wrong."
She moved past him and leaned over the body.
And then—
The dead soldier moved.
With a sudden, violent snap, his arm jerked upward, fingers clamping around Avaritia's throat.
She gasped, eyes wide as she was lifted partially off her feet.
"Doctor!" Sano screamed.
Soldiers reacted instantly, rushing forward, prying the arm loose, forcing it down. It took three of them to restrain it.
But even as they did, something became horrifyingly clear.
Only the arm was moving.
The rest of the body lay limp and lifeless.
Avaritia collapsed to the ground, coughing violently.
"Dr. Avaritia! Are you alright?" Sano shouted, dropping to his knees beside her.
She nodded slowly.
But when she looked up—
Her expression was wrong.
Her eyes gleamed with something dark. Hungry.
She stood smoothly, brushing herself off.
"Sano," she said softly, smiling. "You did well. I'll take it from here. You should get some rest."
Sano hesitated.
"…Understood, ma'am."
As he walked away, he glanced back once.
Avaritia was already leaning over the body again, her smile lingering far too long.
***
Sirens cut through the air.
A vehicle screeched to a halt near the medical perimeter.
Commander Jeanne Ancora stepped out.
Her presence alone seemed to steady the chaos around her. Soldiers straightened. Medics moved faster. Whispers followed her steps.
She scanned the scene, eyes sharp, searching.
"Where is Commander Incarceratus?" she demanded, stopping a nearby medic.
The question hung heavy in the air.