The bunker door gave way with a muffled crack, the detonation of the precision charge barely louder than a dropped helmet. Smoke curled from the breach as Phillip stepped forward, rifle up, visor shimmering with IR overlays.
"Gas trace?"
"Negative," Shadow-6 confirmed, sweeping the opening with a handheld sensor. "Trap was a dud or rigged incomplete. Nerve agent would have blown with more pressure. They meant it as a scare tactic."
"Scare or not, they knew we were coming. And I am kind of liking their ingenuinety here." Thomas muttered.
The hatch yawned open before them, revealing a steep staircase descending into blackness. No lights. No sound. Just the damp stink of mold and rust—and beneath that, the unmistakable reek of rot.
"Stack up," Phillip ordered.
The team moved quickly, single file, rifles up, masks sealed.
Thomas took second position, behind Ghost. He could feel the heat radiating from the narrow stairwell, unnatural and stale.
They descended.
**
Fifteen steps.
