Soviet Bunker – Morning
September 2054 – 0730 Hours
The smell of burnt coffee and stale ration packs filled the bunker's main chamber.
Bravo Team sat around an old metal table, their makeshift command center littered with maps, half-eaten protein bars, and scattered ammo magazines. The dim yellow glow from the bunker's failing overhead lights cast long shadows over their faces, making the exhaustion in their eyes more apparent.
They had slept—but not well.
The war outside still raged. Their supplies were dwindling. And Jackson Osiris and Dr. Adrian Mercer had brought back new questions, but no answers.
Now, it was time to decide what came next.
Elias Scott stood at the head of the table, rubbing his temples as he stared down at a tactical map of Eastern Europe. His voice was steady, but there was a clear weight behind it.
"Alright. Let's break this down. We have food for maybe three days. Water for four. Fuel? Barely enough to get us out of the mountains."
Gaz Brown, still groggy from lack of sleep, stretched his arms behind his head. "So, in summary—we're screwed."
Irina Vinogradova, sipping a cup of terrible instant coffee, didn't even look up. "We were already screwed. Now we're just on a tighter deadline."
Elle Favreau leaned forward, tapping the map. "Then we need to move. Sitting here makes us a target. We find another supply route, another Osiris black site—something. Anything."
Elias nodded. "That's the problem. Where do we go next?"
Jackson, arms crossed, exhaled. "Mercer and I dug through the bunker's archives last night. A lot of it was corrupted, but we found evidence of old Osiris black sites. Most were shut down years ago, but there's a chance one of them still has something we can use."
Gaz perked up. "Define 'something.' Are we talking actual resources, or another haunted house full of dead science experiments?"
Jackson didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked at Mercer.
The doctor set down his coffee and adjusted his glasses. "One of the sites we came across wasn't just a research facility. It was a storage depot. If it still exists, there's a chance it has supplies—maybe even weapons."
Elias studied the map. "Where?"
Mercer tapped the table. "Southern Romania. Near the border with Bulgaria."
Irina's expression remained unreadable. "That's a long way. And it's not safe territory."
Elle nodded. "We'd have to cross through at least two contested zones. Russian mechanized units were spotted near Bucharest last month. NATO's barely holding onto their footholds. And Osiris?" She glanced at Jackson. "I'm guessing they have eyes everywhere."
Jackson's jaw tightened. "They always do."
Elias sighed, crossing his arms. "So, we have a choice.
Option one— We stay here, reinforce the bunker, and send out smaller scavenging teams to gather supplies. Less risky, but slow.
Option two— We move. Head for the old Osiris depot, see if it still has anything worth taking. Riskier, but higher potential reward."
Gaz scoffed. "Option three—we steal an Osiris dropship and fly straight to the Bahamas."
Elle deadpanned. "You're an idiot."
Gaz grinned. "And yet, somehow, I'm still the most fun person here."
Mercer exhaled. "We don't have time to waste. If Osiris figures out this bunker is back online, they'll come looking."
Elias looked at Jackson. "What's your call?"
Jackson studied the map. He didn't like either option.
Stay here, and they'd be sitting ducks.
Move too soon, and they might walk into an ambush.
Then, as if on cue, the bunker's emergency lighting flickered.
The room dimmed for a split second, then stabilized.
And in that moment, a deep sense of unease settled over Jackson's gut.
Something wasn't right.
And they were about to find out why.
Soviet Bunker – Lower Levels
September 2054 – 0900 Hours
The bunker had been quiet. Too quiet.
After the morning strategy discussion, Bravo Team dispersed, each soldier going about their own tasks—some checking their weapons, others resting, a few wandering through the bunker's forgotten corridors.
But something felt… off.
It wasn't obvious at first. Just a feeling.
Then came the small details.
A faint buzzing sound in the walls. A shift in air pressure through the vents. The occasional flicker in the lights, as if the bunker itself was stirring awake after decades of sleep.
Something wasn't right.
And it was Irina Vinogradova who noticed it first.
Irina had been walking the perimeter, inspecting the structural integrity of the bunker when she heard it—a low, rhythmic humming.
She stopped, turning her head slightly.
It was faint. Almost imperceptible.
A sound that didn't belong in an abandoned facility.
Frowning, she followed it, weaving through rusted hallways and half-collapsed sections of the bunker, until she reached an old maintenance room.
The metal door was partially ajar.
Inside, the source of the noise became clear.
A server rack, blinking with faint red lights.
It was still on.
Irina froze.
For a moment, she thought it was a mistake, just residual power from when they rebooted the bunker's systems. But as she stepped closer, she saw the truth.
The dust on the console was disturbed.The screen, cracked but functional, displayed lines of code running in the background.A timestamp in the upper-right corner of the screen. Current date.
Someone had accessed this system recently.
Her stomach tightened.
She pressed the comms. "Jackson. Mercer. You need to get down here."
Minutes later, Jackson Osiris and Dr. Adrian Mercer arrived, followed by Elias, Elle, and Gaz.
Mercer immediately went to the console, adjusting his glasses as he scrolled through the active processes. His face paled.
"Shit," he muttered.
Jackson stepped beside him. "What?"
Mercer's fingers flew across the keyboard. "This isn't just residual power. This system is still running because someone—or something—kept it online."
Elle frowned. "Kept it online for what?"
Mercer hesitated. Then he exhaled. "A tracking signal."
The room went silent.
Gaz muttered, "Oh, fantastic. We turned on the lights, and now the wolves know where we live."
Irina clenched her jaw. "How long?"
Mercer grimaced. "I don't know. But if we picked up on this, someone else might have too."
And that was when the radio crackled.
A transmission.
Not from Osiris.
Not from NATO.
But in Russian.
Irina's entire body tensed.
The voice on the other end was gruff, calm, and methodical. The signal was close—too close.
She understood it instantly.
"This is Red Battalion, forward recon unit. We have detected abnormal electronic activity near grid coordinates Zero-Seven-Nine. Possible hostile presence. Investigating now."
She glanced at the others. They had no idea what had just been said.
Jackson leaned in. "Irina?"
She took a slow breath. Then she looked up.
"We have a problem."
Soviet Bunker – Lower Levels
September 2054 – 0915 Hours
Silence.
That was all Bravo Team heard as the Russian transmission crackled through the bunker's radio, sending a chill through the stale air.
"This is Red Battalion, forward recon unit. We have detected abnormal electronic activity near grid coordinates Zero-Seven-Nine. Possible hostile presence. Investigating now."
The voice was calm. Too calm.
Irina Vinogradova's blood ran cold.
They weren't just passing through.
They were coming.
The rest of the team stared at Irina, waiting for her to translate.
Jackson Osiris narrowed his eyes. "What did they say?"
Irina kept her voice low and steady. "They picked up on the signal. They're moving in to investigate."
Elias Scott didn't hesitate. "How many?"
Irina glanced at the radio, listening for any follow-up transmissions. "It's a recon team. Small unit, maybe four to six soldiers. But they won't be alone."
Mercer ran a hand through his hair, muttering. "Jesus Christ. We turned this place into a beacon."
Gaz Brown exhaled, adjusting his vest. "Alright, so… what's the move?"
Jackson looked around at his team.
They had seconds to decide.
Option One: Stay Hidden – Observe the Russian unit, avoid confrontation, and see if they leave.
Option Two: Attempt Communication – Risk revealing their position, but try to de-escalate.
Option Three: Evacuate – Leave the bunker before the Russians arrive.
Elias clenched his jaw. "Whatever we do, we do it now."
Jackson turned to Irina. "If we try to talk, how bad is the language barrier?"
Irina didn't hesitate. "They won't trust us. And if they recognize Osiris gear? They'll shoot first."
Elle Favreau glanced toward the bunker entrance. "We don't know if they're hostile yet."
Irina locked eyes with her. "They're Russian recon. They're not here to make friends."
A tense beat passed.
Then—static crackled over the radio again.
"Movement detected near the southern approach. Engaging thermal scan. Stand by."
Jackson inhaled sharply. "They're close."
Elias nodded. "We make a call. Now."
Soviet Bunker – Main Chamber
September 2054 – 0925 Hours
The air inside the bunker grew colder.
Every Bravo Team member felt it—the creeping sensation of being hunted.
The Russian recon unit was close. Too close.
"Movement detected near the southern approach. Engaging thermal scan. Stand by."
The radio transmission had cut through the static like a blade.
Elias Scott moved first, his voice a sharp whisper. "Everyone—low, quiet, no sudden moves."** He gestured toward the nearest cover—a row of rusted machinery and overturned crates.**
Jackson Osiris followed instinctively, keeping his footsteps light as he slipped into the shadows. Elle Favreau positioned herself near a broken console, hand resting on her sidearm. Irina Vinogradova, the only one who could understand the Russians' transmissions, stayed closest to the radio, listening intently.
Dr. Adrian Mercer was slower to react, still processing the situation. Gaz grabbed him by the vest and pulled him into cover. "Not dying for your hesitation, Doc."
Mercer exhaled sharply but said nothing.
Then—the first sign of movement.
Jackson peeked through a cracked doorway leading toward the entrance corridor. His pulse slowed, every breath controlled.
Then he saw them.
Four Russian soldiers moved in a coordinated formation, their rifles raised, scanning every shadow. Their gear was rugged but modern—digital camouflage, tactical helmets, and thermal optics.
These weren't conscripts or untrained militia.
They were Spetsnaz.
Elite. Dangerous. Not the kind of men who made mistakes.
One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a battle-worn AK-12, paused near the entrance. He lifted a handheld thermal scanner, slowly sweeping it across the room.
Jackson held his breath.
The scanner's soft hum filled the air.
Irina watched it carefully, whispering just loud enough for the others to hear. "Stay still. Older Soviet bunkers have thick walls—if they don't get a direct line, they won't see us."
Everyone froze.
The thermal scanner passed over their position—lingering for a second too long.
Gaz, tucked behind a rusted storage crate, clenched his jaw. "I swear to God, if I die because of a cheap Soviet engineering flaw—"
Elle shot him a warning glare.
Finally, the scanner beeped once, but the soldier lowered it.
Nothing detected.
Jackson exhaled, but he didn't relax.
One of the Russian soldiers spoke into his radio.
"Thermal scan negative. No visible hostiles. Proceeding with sweep."
Irina translated in a low voice.
Elias gave Jackson a look—a silent question.
Do we stay hidden or do we prepare to act?
Jackson's response was equally silent.
We wait.
The Russians weren't leaving yet.
They were still searching.
And all it would take was one wrong move to change everything.
Soviet Bunker – Main Chamber
September 2054 – 0929 Hours
For a moment, it seemed like they might get away with it.
The Russian recon team had scanned the room, found nothing, and signaled their intent to continue the sweep. Bravo Team had stayed invisible. Motionless. Silent.
Then—
CLANG.
A rusted metal pipe dislodged from a collapsed shelf in the corner of the room, tumbling down with a deafening crash.
The sound ripped through the silence like a gunshot.
Every Russian soldier snapped toward the noise, rifles raised.
"Контакт! Контакт!" (Contact! Contact!)
The leader barked a command, his voice sharp with authority. "Secure the area! Move!"
One soldier immediately swung his rifle toward the shadows, his weapon-mounted flashlight cutting through the dim bunker like a blade.
And in that moment—they saw them.
RATATATAT!
The first burst of gunfire cracked through the air, shredding a rusted metal locker into fragments as Bravo Team scattered for cover.
Jackson Osiris moved first, rolling behind a support pillar just as bullets pinged off the concrete. He yanked up his rifle, aiming toward the muzzle flashes.
"Open fire!" Elias Scott shouted.
BANG!
Elle Favreau's sniper round punched through a Russian's helmet, sending him collapsing onto the bunker floor.
Gaz Brown tossed a flashbang, the explosion of white light disorienting two soldiers.
Irina Vinogradova fired controlled bursts, her shots punching through a soldier's chest as he staggered back, choking on his own blood.
Jackson leaned from cover and squeezed the trigger, dropping another hostile with a precise headshot.
"Suppress them!" Elias barked.
Bullets rained through the bunker, sparks flying off rusted machinery and concrete.
The bunker wasn't built for firefights. The air filled with smoke, dust, and deafening gunfire.
One of the Russians recovered from the flashbang, rushing toward Elle's position with a combat knife drawn.
She was faster.
With a practiced motion, she sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and drove her own blade into his throat.
Blood splattered across the wall.
She let him drop.
Three down. Two left.
The remaining Russians weren't running.
One of them—the squad leader—shouted into his radio as he ducked behind cover. "Это засада! Нам нужна поддержка!" (It's an ambush! We need support!)
Irina paled. "They're calling for backup!"
The last Russian pulled a grenade from his vest.
Jackson saw it too late.
"Grenade!"
The soldier hurled it toward Bravo Team's cover.
The grenade bounced once on the concrete, rolling toward Bravo Team's cover.
Gaz Brown's instincts kicked in before fear could.
"Oh, hell no!"
With a sharp pivot, he swung his boot forward, connecting with the grenade mid-roll.
THUNK.
The explosive sailed back through the air, landing right in front of the Russian squad leader.
His eyes widened in horror.
BOOM.
The detonation ripped through the bunker corridor, sending a shockwave through the walls. The last two Russians were torn apart instantly, their bodies slamming against the rusted metal.
Dust and smoke billowed through the air, filling the chamber with the acrid stench of explosives and blood.
For a second, there was only ringing silence.
Then—Gaz let out a shaky breath.
"I am… officially my own biggest fan."
Elle coughed. "That was either the dumbest or the luckiest thing I've ever seen."
Gaz grinned. "Can't it be both?"
Jackson wasn't smiling. He turned toward Irina. "Did they get the message out?"
Irina's expression was grim.
"Yes. And if they weren't sure we were here before…"
Elias finished for her. "They damn well are now."
Soviet Bunker – Evacuation Under Pressure
September 2054 – 0945 Hours
The smell of smoke and gunpowder still lingered in the air as Bravo Team moved fast through the bunker's winding corridors. The bodies of the Russian recon unit lay lifeless in pools of blood, but there was no time to process the fight.
Reinforcements would be coming.
Jackson Osiris took point, his rifle up, eyes sharp as he led them toward the exit tunnel. Elias Scott was right behind him, his voice low but urgent.
"We need distance. Now."
Gaz Brown yanked Dr. Adrian Mercer forward by the sleeve. "Move, Doc. I'm not carrying your ass."
Mercer shot him a glare but kept pace.
Irina Vinogradova checked the radio, still gripping it tightly. "They stopped transmitting. But that only means one thing."
Elle Favreau nodded grimly. "They're on their way."
No one needed to say it.
Osiris had taught them how this worked—kill a recon team, and the hammer dropped soon after.
They slipped through the bunker's old escape tunnel, emerging into the thick Carpathian forest. As soon as they were outside, the cold air hit them, carrying the distant sounds of artillery fire and airstrikes.
The war was still raging.
And now they were part of it.
A Night Among Ruins
September 2054 – 1830 Hours
By the time Bravo Team reached the outskirts of a small rural village, the sun was setting, casting an eerie orange glow over the wreckage of what was once a home.
The village—if you could still call it that—was barely standing.
Collapsed houses lined the roads, roofs blown apart by airstrikes.Craters filled the streets, remnants of past artillery bombardments.Burned-out vehicles sat abandoned, doors open, belongings scattered.Fallen power lines tangled through the debris like dead vines.
The silence was worse than the destruction.
Jackson scanned the area, his boots crunching over broken glass and bullet casings.
No movement. No survivors.
Just a graveyard.
Elias gestured toward a two-story house that still had most of its walls intact. "We take shelter there. One night. No fires. No noise."
They moved in, clearing each room with silent precision.
The house was empty. But it hadn't always been.
The kitchen table was still set, dust-covered plates and a bottle of wine left untouched. Upstairs, a child's stuffed rabbit lay in a bed, untouched by time.
No bodies. But they didn't need them to know what happened here.
Osiris. NATO. Russia. China. It didn't matter who pulled the trigger.
The war never left survivors.
The fire had long since burned out.
Not that Bravo Team had built one in the first place. No flames. No light. No sound. Just darkness, cold stone walls, and the lingering scent of smoke and decay from the war that had torn this place apart.
They sat in a half-collapsed living room, the remnants of a family's life still clinging to the space. A faded rug, its edges burnt. A coffee table, now cracked in two. A portrait on the wall, tilted and covered in dust, depicting a family that had either fled—or died.
It was quiet. Not peaceful. Just… quiet.
And then Gaz Brown, in true Gaz fashion, ruined it.
"Okay, but hear me out—who the hell eats 'steak in mushroom gravy' out of a bag?"
Elias Scott sighed. "Gaz, shut up and eat."
"I am eating." Gaz poked his fork into the gray, unrecognizable contents of his MRE, squinting. "But this is a war crime, and I need it acknowledged."
Elle Favreau smirked. "You survived a Russian grenade today, and this is what's breaking you?"
Gaz gestured dramatically to his ration pack. "I faced death. I kicked death back at the guy who threw it. And now, this is my reward? This gelatinous, unidentified meat slurry?" He sniffed it, then shuddered. "Even the apocalypse has standards."
Dr. Adrian Mercer, exhausted and sipping from a lukewarm canteen, rubbed his temples. "Do you ever stop talking?"
Gaz grinned. "Mercer, buddy, I talk because if I stop, I might start crying."
Irina Vinogradova, who had been silently chewing on a stale protein bar, finally spoke. "Gaz, if I have to hear you complain one more time, I will make sure you stop talking permanently."
Gaz held up his hands. "Alright, alright. No need for threats. I'll suffer in silence. Like a true warrior." He dramatically took another bite and grimaced.
Elle snorted. "Yeah. Real warrior."
The humor faded after a while. Not entirely, but enough for the weight of the day to settle in.
Elias leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "We shouldn't be alive."
Jackson Osiris, who had been quietly eating in the corner, glanced up. "We are."
Elias shook his head. "We killed a Spetsnaz recon team in a Soviet bunker and walked away. You know how many people pull that off?"
Elle shrugged. "Not a lot."
Gaz chewed, then swallowed. "Technically, we didn't 'walk away.' We 'ran like hell.'"
Elias exhaled. "Still."
For a moment, no one spoke.
They were alive, but that didn't mean they were safe.
Dr. Mercer, still processing everything from the bunker, finally spoke. "That message. Stavros. He knew something before Osiris shut him down."
Jackson nodded. "Yeah. And now we have to figure out what."
Elle studied him carefully. "You really think it's that simple?"
Jackson's expression darkened. "No. But I don't have a choice."
As the silence stretched, Gaz, unable to handle the tension, changed the subject.
"Alright. Let's settle this. Best action movie of all time—go."
Elle scoffed. "That's what you want to talk about right now?"
"Yes. Because if I think about the war, I'll have an existential crisis, and I'd rather debate cinema."
Irina sighed. "You have the brain of a child."
Gaz pointed at her. "And yet, I'm the funniest person in this room."
Elias shook his head. "Die Hard."
Gaz gasped. "I was gonna say Die Hard! You bastard!"
Elle smirked. "You're both wrong. Aliens."
Irina crossed her arms. "Terminator 2."
Mercer, half-asleep, muttered. "Blade Runner."
Jackson, chewing slowly, finally answered. "Heat."
Everyone turned to look at him.
Gaz frowned. "Damn. That's actually a solid choice."
Jackson shrugged. "I know what I'm about."
For a brief, fleeting moment, the war outside didn't exist.
It was just them—tired soldiers in a ruined house, arguing about movies and choking down terrible rations.
The kind of moment they might not get again.
The kind of moment they would fight to keep.
Eventually, the exhaustion won out.
Elias stood, stretching. "We leave at first light. Three-hour watch shifts. Irina, you're first. Jackson, you're second. Elle and I will take the last rotation."
Gaz groaned. "I swear, if I wake up to another gunfight, I'm quitting this team."
Irina smirked. "You're assuming you have a choice."
Gaz grinned. "Damn right I am."
One by one, they settled in.
Irina took up position by the window, rifle in hand, watching the ruins of the war-torn village for any sign of movement.
Jackson lay awake, staring at the ceiling, mind filled with questions that had no answers.
Mercer, exhausted beyond reason, finally dozed off, muttering something about "never eating an MRE again."
And outside, the war continued.
Distant artillery.
The occasional droning hum of a passing aircraft.
The world hadn't stopped burning.
But for now, in this place, for this one night—Bravo Team was still here.
Still fighting.
Still alive.
For now.
The Next Morning – On the Move Again
September 2054 – 0700 Hours
They didn't sleep much.
By sunrise, Bravo Team was already moving again—on foot, heading south toward the next town.
They avoided roads. Sticking to forests, broken farmland, and old railway lines to stay undetected.
They moved in silence. Listening for drones, patrols, or distant gunfire.
They rationed supplies. Their food wouldn't last much longer.
Dr. Mercer, unused to long-distance marches, was struggling to keep up.
Gaz, despite his usual sarcasm, nudged him forward. "C'mon, Doc. Think of this as extreme cardio."
Mercer groaned. "I was a scientist, not an athlete."
Gaz grinned. "Well, now you're a fugitive. Time to adjust."
It took them hours to reach the outskirts of the semi-occupied town.
But when they arrived—they weren't alone.
September 2054 – 1100 Hours
The town was different from the village.
It was damaged, but not abandoned.
From the treeline, Bravo Team saw:
Makeshift barricades built from old vehicles and sandbags.
Smoke rising from active fire pits—signs of habitation.
Faded Romanian flags painted onto walls.
Elle exhaled. "This isn't a ghost town. People are still here."
Irina, the only one who spoke Romanian and Russian, studied the layout carefully. "Not civilians. These are resistance fighters."
Elias nodded. "And they won't be friendly."
Jackson adjusted his grip on his rifle. "Then we go in careful."
They moved forward, stepping into the unknown.
And within moments—rifles were pointed at them.