Chapter 195
Richard’s boots squelched against the blood-slick floor as he stepped over the ruined corpses, the thick smell of rot and burnt flesh invading his nostrils.
The beam of the old flashlight he’d pried from a dead soldier’s cold fingers trembled as he moved it across the corridor. Some of the bodies bore bullet wounds—clean and final. Others looked like they’d been torn apart by animals. Or something worse.
Time bent strangely in this place. After the collapse of the main tunnel, he’d wandered blindly through maintenance shafts and old labs, hoping to find a map, or even a familiar face.
Richard’s boots crunched over something soft, unidentifiable—he didn’t look down. He couldn’t afford to lose the little he had in his stomach.
He muttered under his breath, the sound absorbed by the broken walls and distant echoes. "This place is a fucking tomb."
He swallowed hard, stepping over a body with its jaw hanging loose, one milky eye watching him.
No.
Focus.
A quick sweep of his surroundings confirmed what he already knew—nothing living here but the ghosts. Each corner looked the same—peeling walls, blinking overhead strips, silent screams in the smears of blood that streaked the metal. Until the flicker caught his eye.
A door hung ajar, its hydraulic lock jammed and sparking. Richard pushed it open, flinching at the metal screech. Inside, dusty monitors hummed faintly to life, flickering images across cracked glass.
A faded medbay. Vials and syringes long dried out, operating tables rusted and overturned. The central console buzzed, still displaying fragmented surveillance feeds.