I'm typing this from a dim corner of an unremarkable internet café in a town I've never visited before. I adjust my laptop and peer around to ensure no one is watching. I can't tell you where, but I know I'm safe for the moment. My hands shake as I hover over the keyboard, knowing what I have to reveal but dreading the implications. The silence of the room around me grows suffocating as I begin to type. It's a far cry from the chilling expanses of the Ural Mountains, where we uncovered something that should have stayed hidden. Ignoring warnings, we delved into the abyss, and now, we're facing consequences that could threaten our very existence. I was part of an expedition sent to the Ural Mountains... We found something unimaginable hidden deep in the Earth.
But I know whatever danger I face now will be nothing compared to what we will all face if I do nothing. I glance across the table to my best friend from childhood, Emma, and three other survivors of the mission we undertook. The five of us are among the only sixteen out of more than a hundred to make it out of the Ural Mountains. Their expressions cannot stress the urgency of my message drives me despite the risk of breaking my sworn oath of secrecy. What we found in the Ural Mountains of Russia was frightening. We should not have gone there... We should not have looked into the abyss. But we did, and now we must face the consequences. I must warn you about our expedition before it's too late. I must make the rest of the world understand the consequences of our actions.
The mission was marked by an ominous vibe from the start. Nothing could have prepared us for the stark, haunting beauty of the Urals or the deep cold that seeped into our bones as we hovered over the clandestine facility, isolated and shrouded in darkness. But that same coldness is persistent; even now, I can feel the icy embrace of the frost as if it were an infection.
The world must know and be prepared for what is coming. I cannot ask you to forgive me or any of us for unleashing what could very well be the end of our existence as we know it. I feel compelled to tell you that nothing could have prepared me for what unfolded on that cold, moonlit night. Humanity is not ready... I certainly was not. But how could I possibly convey the danger and the horrors our world is about to face? How do I convince those who will not listen that we have to act now... I feel it may already be too late, but I have to try. And now, it is on me to let the world know. There is only one way to start— from the beginning.
Emma and I weren't just brought onto the expedition because of our scientific expertise but because both of our husbands had been part of the initial team sent to "Звёздная Скважина" (Star Borehole), a project shrouded in secrecy and buried in snow. The Russians called it an environmental study. They needed us because the research supposedly involved virology, neurology, and biology, fields where Emma and I could offer valuable insight. At least, that's what they told us.
Weeks ago, my husband Jim's video calls stopped altogether. Emma's husband, Eric, experienced the same, and our only communication became brief, erratic text messages that dwindled over time. Uncertainty gnawed at us, and the last garbled messages we received from Jim and Eric spoke of a breakthrough requiring broader expertise.
I remember the day I realized something had gone wrong. I was in my lab when I got a call from Moscow, the officer's voice urgent, masking panic beneath a professional tone. The officer only gave me an invitation to Moscow, urging me to fly out immediately. The officer's voice was measured but urgent, masking the panic underneath.
"My husband—"
"Doctor Beall, your husband and his team haven't checked in for two weeks. We need your help. Fly out immediately to our base camp near the Urals."
The call ended with no further details, just a plane ticket and a meeting point at a remote base camp near the Urals. I hesitated for a heartbeat before calling Emma. I knew she'd gotten the same call at the same time as I did, as we'd already been collaborating on a project before we both got the call. I only said three words once she answered before the first ring finished. "Are you in?"
There was a pause, then she answered, "Yes... I am in... I have to know what happened to him. You have to know what happened to Jim."
The days passed like a blur, the drive to the airport, the flight, another long drive, and another flight before we reached 'base camp.' There, we spent another seven days training and going over basic military tactics. Emma and I were familiar with them as we both served as Army doctors. There, we met Captain Helms, the other soldiers, and the scientists of our expedition. From that point, it only took days to find myself freezing in the cold chill of the night.
I guess I should introduce the members of our expedition. The first and foremost is Captain Dutch Helms, who paced methodically across the cabin of the Sikorsky CH-53E Super Stallion, his figure a dark silhouette against the thin shaft of moonlight. His scarred face, etched by past failures and hard-won victories, held the unwavering calm that had guided countless desperate missions. He led the team with a tight grip, hoping to steer us away from the same fate that haunted his past.
Lieutenant Bishop Heart, Helms' trusted right hand, scanned the shadows with a gaze that could cut steel. His silence held secrets of past missions, the weight of lives saved and lost pressing heavily on his conscience. He stayed methodical and focused, never allowing his guard to slip.
Master Sergeant Neal Ross, with an eye for logistics, was the linchpin that kept the team running like a well-oiled machine. Protocols and precision were his armor against the nightmares that lingered from old assignments. If Ross had a plan, the team followed it to the letter.
Staff Sergeant Silvia Rosa, the team's field medic, bore the burden of soldiers she couldn't save in previous missions. This guilt drove her relentless pursuit of protection and efficiency, her hands steady in the direst moments, seeking to bring every soldier back alive.
Corporal Vlad Ivanov, our Russian guide, knew the Urals like the lines on his palms. His iron resolve masked an unyielding determination to uncover the truth behind his father's mysterious disappearance during a nearby research expedition. The mountain held its secrets, and Ivanov was determined to unearth them.
Corporal David Hobbs, the explosives specialist, had an uncanny knack for sensing danger before it struck. His sharp instincts and quiet demeanor made him the ideal scout, with a past that left him haunted by tragedy yet prepared for anything.
Private Dean Sikes, a green recruit, often relied on his photographic memory to decode enemy strategies. His youth was marked by a fear of the unknown. Still, his relentless curiosity and quick thinking made him invaluable to the team. He looked to his fellow soldiers for confidence.
Private Damion Waters, the sniper, remained stoically sharp-eyed, rarely seen without his rifle across his back. He stayed focused on his singular objective: ensuring the team's safe return at any cost.
Sergeant Childs MacReady, a demolition expert with sardonic wit, found his stride in unconventional solutions, breaking through barriers with an explosive flair. His bravado masked the darkness that would creep up in quiet moments when his past actions weighed heavily on his mind.
Private Hassan, the comms expert, could break through any encrypted signal, providing intel from behind enemy lines. His cheerful disposition kept the team's nerves steady. However, he remained quietly determined to prove himself despite the challenges he'd faced rising through the ranks.
Doctor Rachel Gorshkovsky, a biologist and microbiologist, was driven by a fierce dedication to uncover nature's secrets after an outbreak claimed her family. Her intense gaze was ever-watchful, seeking the unseen threats hidden in the environment.
Doctor James Reid, the astrophysicist, peered beyond the Urals' surface anomalies, skeptical of anything that couldn't be unraveled by data and deep-space analysis. He was always searching for a deeper truth, unrelenting in his scientific curiosity.
Doctor Kenneth Murray, the mathematician, sought patterns where others saw chaos. His unconventional theories sometimes bordered on paranoia, but he had the mind for unlocking puzzles where others saw only noise.
Doctor Emma White, the neurologist, studied the limits of human fear. Her clinical demeanor was marked by determination and calm, always seeking to understand the unknown through methodical analysis.
And I, Doctor Alice Beall, a chemist and virologist, felt the weight of our mission in the pit of my stomach. My scientific curiosity was dwarfed by the growing unease gnawing at my core. We were venturing into the abyss, and despite all our preparations, I knew we were walking into something no amount of research could have prepared us for.
The roar of the helicopter blades droned on above us, the vibrations pulsing through the cabin of the Sikorsky CH-53E Super Stallion as we sped toward our destination. Captain Dutch Helms stood at the center, his commanding presence unmistakable despite the darkness. His voice boomed through the intercom, "Listen up. Our mission is straightforward: recover any and all data from the facility and bring back survivors if there are any. No mistakes." He nods to Lieutenant Bishop Heart to play the last transmission from the
The harsh red lighting cast ominous shadows on Captain Dutch Helms' weathered face as he played the last transmission from Doctor Sasha Beischel. We listened intently as the crackling static filled the cabin, the archaeologist's voice breaking through intermittently. Her breath was ragged, tinged with panic.
"This is Doctor Sasha Beischel from the facility. Something has happened... the digging... no, no, they shouldn't have opened it!" Her words blurred through a wash of white noise before returning. "The team... We tried to—" She gasped, her voice quivering as static overwhelmed the transmission.
Her voice, strained and frantic, crackled through the static: "If anyone's receiving this... we need help immediately. Something has breached the lower levels... we couldn't contain it. Casualties are high. I'm not sure how much longer we can hold out. Please, send—"
There was a long pause, and the silence rang in our ears before her voice returned, now hoarse, barely above a whisper. "We can't hold them back any longer. They're coming... Please, send help. This is... Doctor Sasha Beischel. If you hear this... they... they're—" The message cut off abruptly, leaving only the empty hiss of static. Her last words hung ominously in the air before the recording went silent. A heavy, tense silence settled over us, each person processing the gravity of the distress call.
Captain Helms leaned forward, his eyes piercing through the dimly lit cabin. "You heard her. We're going into the unknown. Whatever happened, that's what we're walking into. Stay alert, stay alive. We're not just here for recovery; we might be heading into a fight. Prepare accordingly." Stay on task and keep your heads clear. You know what's at stake."
We exchanged uneasy glances, each of us bracing for the reality of the mission ahead. The hum of the helicopter's engines and the rattling of our gear only deepened the oppressive sense of uncertainty.
Captain Helms' eyes bore into each one of us. "Our job is to bring back the data and any survivors. Stay sharp and stick to protocol. This is not a salvage mission, it's a recovery, so remember your training."
The atmosphere grew colder as Lieutenant Bishop Heart, Captain Helms' right hand, laid out the tactical plan. He had the steely resolve of a man who had been through too many operations and knew the grim realities. "Stay in formation and stick to your roles. Nobody ventures off alone, clear?"
Master Sergeant Neal Ross, a former intelligence operative, remained silent, inspecting his rifle with surgical precision. He had spent years in the shadowy world of covert operations, where every shot counted. He exchanged a grim nod with Staff Sergeant Silvia Rosa, a hardened veteran with sharp eyes who could spot danger from a mile away.
Corporal Vlad Ivanov, the unit's marksman, traced a scar on his forearm. "Two weeks is a long time for a place to go dark."
Corporal David Hobbs, his partner, and the explosives specialist leaned back, his fingers methodically running over the grenades strapped to his chest. "That means whatever happened hit them fast."
Private Dean Sikes sat stiffly, his wide eyes reflecting the cabin's red light. Private Damion Waters handed him a flask of water. "Keep your head in the game, Dean. We have your back."
Sergeant Childs MacReady and Private Hassan sat side by side, their expressions hardened. MacReady whispered something to Hassan, who simply nodded before donning his helmet. They were the heavy gunners, ready to lay down suppressive fire at a moment's notice.
The scientists were strapped in tightly, their gear clinking as the helicopter swayed. Doctor James Reid glanced at the reading charts on his lap. He was an astrophysicist, more accustomed to deciphering the mysteries of space than facing the unknown within the earth. Beside him, Doctor Kenneth Murray, a mathematician known for breaking complex codes, scanned through files of calculations. "This place could have variables we can't predict," he murmured.
Doctor Rachel Gorshkovsky, the Russian biologist and microbiologist, adjusted her respirator and pulled out a series of diagnostic tools. "We have to approach this methodically," she said, glancing at Doctor Emma White, the neurologist. White remained silent, her gloved hands folded together. She had a reputation for dissecting the unseen, and her eyes betrayed a determination that had helped us through countless emergencies.
I listened as the helicopter hummed above us, its vibrations a constant reminder of what lay ahead. My name is Alice, a chemist and virologist, but I knew there were things down there that no test tube could explain. My gloves were tight around my wrist, and I glanced at the locket around my neck, a reminder of the truths hidden deep beneath the snow and ice.
From my seat in the helicopter, the vast and eerie expanse of the Ural Mountains stretched out beneath us. The landscape presented itself as an endless canvas of chilling beauty under the moonlit sky, its secrets buried deep beneath layers of snow. As I gazed out, my breath fogged the inside of the window, and a biting cold nipped at my nose, slicing through the warmth of our cabin. Below us, the Urals' labyrinthine terrain, with its hidden dangers and frozen silences, spread out, filling my heart with a mix of exhilaration and dread— the type that seeps into your bones like the frost of a deep winter. My stomach was coiled with a mixture of excitement and a chilling trepidation that crept into my veins like frostbite.
The helicopter's vibrations were like a humming lullaby from the mechanical beast, trying to soothe my burgeoning anxiety, but the potent sense of foreboding was undeniable. Doctor Emma White glanced at me with her golden hair cascading in a tight bun. Our eyes locked, and for a moment, a silent conversation passed between us. We knew we had stepped into something far more extensive and complex than we initially thought. I recalled our shared late-night discussions in the lab during college, our dreams of breaking scientific boundaries and saving lives, not knowing that those ambitions would lead us here, to this clandestine assignment amidst the frozen wilderness.
Underneath the roaring of the helicopter, my mind began to wander, drawing from the scarce scraps of information provided to us. What could be so critical, so imperatively secretive, that it required expertise from such disparate scientific domains? My fingers instinctively wrapped around the small locket I always wore, a memento from my late mother, who always told me, "In science, we find truth." Yet, at that moment, truth seemed ominously veiled, masked by the shadows of undisclosed agendas and the stark, piercing cold of the mountains beneath. I steal a glance at Emma. Her face is set, her eyes reflecting the red emergency lights, a stark contrast to the darkness outside the chopper's windows. The roar of the helicopter blades isn't enough to drown out the silence that follows each of Helms's sentences.
She catches my look, and for a moment, her facade cracks. "What if we end up like them, Alice?" she whispers, barely audible over the din.
My heart clenches. "We won't," I reply with more conviction than I feel. "We're here to find out what happened, to bring them back if we can."
Emma nods, but her eyes are haunted, mirroring my own fears. Our conversation is cut short as Helms calls for attention, but the weight of our private dread remains, a silent acknowledgment of the potential cost of our journey. "ETA: Five minutes to LZ, weapons hot!"
A disembodied voice crackled through the headgear, alerting us that we were nearing our destination. My eyes refocused, pulling away from the icy terrain below to the oasis of light ahead, an anomalous illumination amidst the blanketing darkness of the remote location. The light flickered and danced off the snow, revealing an extensive, far more elaborate establishment than I'd anticipated. Structures with dark, angular silhouettes stood stark against the gleaming brightness that enveloped them.
My fingers tensed around the metal of my seat's armrest as the helicopter descended towards the compound, silently pondering the nature of our mission. What was being conducted in such a remote and secretive facility that mandated our collective expertise? And why was I, a chemist and virologist, needed alongside an astrophysicist, a mathematician, and a neurosurgeon-biologist?
Suddenly, the cabin shook violently, causing everyone inside to rock back and forth. I felt the helicopter spin out of control, pulling me to the right. The sheer force of the spin pulled my body into the seat. There was no time to wonder what was happening.
An abrupt wrenching of the world around me commanded all my attention. Our once steady descent into the snowy abyss transformed into a frenzied spiral. The cabin's previous hum of methodical machinery turned to a cacophony of screeches and rattles. Beside me, Emma's eyes widened with fear, her hand reaching out to grip mine, seeking a reassurance I couldn't provide.
"Brace for impact!" the pilot's voice erupted over the intercom, barely piercing the tumult of our descent. His words acted as a trigger; suddenly, the cabin was a flurry of motion as everyone scrambled to secure themselves.
Doctor Emma White's face went white, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination as she gripped the nearest handhold, her body bracing against the uncontrollable movements. The helicopter's nose dipped sharply, a stomach-churning plummet that made my heart leap into my throat.
"We're spinning out, hang on!" The second pilot's strained voice came over the intercom, barely audible over the screech of metal and the whipping winds that now invaded the cabin through an opening somewhere in the fuselage.
The world outside became a blur of moonlit snow and dark rock as the helicopter spiraled downward. My thoughts flashed irrationally to those late-night debates with Emma about the unpredictable nature of the scientific inquiry—how, despite all predictions and controls, variables could still surprise you dangerously and fatally.
The cold air slapped my face, snapping me back to the imminent danger. We were falling, spiraling into a descent that felt both wildly out of control and terrifyingly inevitable. I tried to focus on the commanding officer's instructions, his voice a lifeline in the disorienting terror of the spin.
"Manual controls aren't responding!" one of the pilots shouted, panic threading his voice as he wrestled with the controls. The commanding officer was now on his feet, somehow maintaining his balance as he moved toward the cockpit.
The commanding officer, a gruff man known only as Captain Helms, barked orders with a practiced calm that belied the chaos. "Secure all loose items! Heads down!" His directives cut through the panic like a knife. I obeyed instinctively, tucking my head and wrapping my arms over it, holding the locket tight in my fist.
Outside, the moonlit snow blurred into a ghostly whirl as we spun. With every rotation, the distant lights of the base smeared across my vision, dancing wildly in the dark. My stomach lurched with each turn, a physical echo of the spiraling chopper.
The wind howled like a banshee as it tore at the exposed parts of the helicopter. I could hear the strained metal groaning under the assault, a terrifying symphony that underscored our perilous situation. The air inside was thick with the acrid scent of fuel and the sharp tang of fear.
Through the chaos, I heard Emma's voice, strained but clear. "Hang on, everyone. Just hang on!" Her words were meant to comfort, but they were swallowed by a particularly violent shudder that ran through the chopper.
"Brace!" The commanding officer's voice cut through the growing chaos like a knife. I barely registered the sound of my own name—Alice—as he barked orders, trying to guide the pilots through the emergency procedures.
Around me, I heard the desperate gasps and muttered prayers of the crew, each person enveloped in their own private battle with fear. The lights of the base below, which moments ago seemed a beacon of mysterious purpose, now flickered ominously as we hurtled toward them.
Suddenly, a violent jolt threw me against my seatbelt, the impact forcing the air from my lungs. The helicopter had hit something—a gust of wind or perhaps a thermal anomaly—causing it to jerk upward momentarily before resuming its deadly spin.
"Emergency landing procedures, now!" The commanding officer was back in the cabin, his voice commanding over the din. He met my eyes for a brief moment, his gaze sharp and clear despite the chaos. "Alice, help secure everything loose. We can't have anything flying around when we touch down."
The helicopter's violent dance with the wind was abruptly interrupted by a jarring impact that sent shocks through the frame. We hit the ground hard, the sound of crunching metal and breaking glass filling the cabin. My body jerked against the restraints, the impact sending pain radiating through my shoulders and neck.
For a moment, everything was eerily silent except for the hissing and popping of stressed metal cooling in the snow. Then, as if the crash had been a mere pause, the helicopter began to slide, the icy surface of the mountain aiding our uncontrolled descent.
"We need to get out!" Captain Helms' voice was urgent, slicing through the disorientation. I fumbled with my seatbelt, my fingers numb and clumsy from the shock. Beside me, Emma was already moving, her training taking over as she checked herself for injuries before assisting others.
The cold air slapped me as I followed her out, the exit a gaping maw in the twisted fuselage. The snow was blinding, driven into a frenzy by the wind that continued to howl around the wreckage. We gathered, shivering and shocked, a small group of silhouettes against the stark whiteness.
Captain Helms took a head count, his flashlight beam darting from face to face. "Is everyone here?" His voice was tense, expecting the worst.
"We're all out, Captain," one of the security personnel confirmed, his voice hoarse. "But the pilots—"
The realization hit us with the weight of the mountain itself. The pilot had not followed us out.
Without a word, Helms turned back toward the wreckage, his determination a tangible thing in the frigid air. "Stay here. I'm going back for them."
"No, I'll go," Emma interjected, stepping forward. Her resolve was palpable, her expression set in grim lines. "You keep everyone safe here. I can help them."
Before anyone could argue, she was already moving back toward the helicopter, her figure quickly swallowed by the swirling snow. Captain Helms cursed softly under his breath but didn't stop her. "Private Waters, go with her... Get those pilots out!" Helms barked.
Finally, four figures emerged from the blizzard, the pilots leaning heavily on Emma and Waters. We rallied around them, huddled close for warmth against the biting wind. The icy wilderness stretched endlessly around us, the facility looming like a fortress in the distance, carved into the face of the mountain. My breath was ragged as I tightened my gloves and adjusted the rifle slung across my shoulder.
Relief surged through me, mingled with an intense adrenaline aftershock. We weren't safe yet, not by any measure, but we were alive. As we huddled together, waiting for rescue, I couldn't help but wonder about the cause of our crash. What had gone so wrong? And more importantly, what lay in store for us at this mysterious mountain base, hidden away in the Ural's icy embrace?
"We need to get to that facility," Captain Helms said, his voice low but firm. "Stay close and stay alert. This storm isn't letting up."
Under the oppressive gray sky, the wind cut through our heavy military gear like a knife through cloth, numbing our fingers and faces as we trudged through the deep snow toward the facility. The structure, carved into the face of the Ural Mountains, loomed over us—a dark, imposing fortress that seemed to merge with the frozen landscape itself. Its presence was as unwelcoming as the biting cold, and with each step closer, the air grew heavier, as if the mountain itself was pushing back against our intrusion.
Captain Dutch Helms led our formation with a grim determination, his eyes scanning the horizon, his rifle never lowering. Behind him, I marched with Doctor Emma White and Doctor James Reid, our own weapons clutched tightly. We were scientists first, but on this expedition, survival necessitated becoming soldiers as well.
The silence of the march was unsettling. Normally, one might expect some chatter, a brief exchange to dispel the growing tension, but here, under the shadow of our mission, words were as sparse as the warmth. The only sound was the crunch of our boots and the occasional gust that whistled through the desolate pass, whispering threats.
As we neared the entrance of the facility, its choice by the initial team became clear. It was not merely remote; it was a fortress that melded seamlessly into the mountain, its design more reminiscent of a medieval castle than a scientific outpost. Towering walls of forbidding stone blended into the mountain's crags and crevices, and the massive iron doors were flanked by torches that cast a ghostly light, their flickering flames painting eerie, dancing shadows on the icy ground.
Lieutenant Heart, who had been maintaining a steady pace just behind Helms, now stepped forward, his face etched with a steely resolve. "Signals are all down," he growled, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. "We're blind out here."
Captain Helms nodded, his expression unreadable beneath his frost-rimmed mask. "Keep your guard up. We don't know what took out the first team, and I'm not looking to join them."
The rest of the team—Master Sergeant Ross, Doctor Murray, and the others—formed a tight perimeter around the entrance, their rifles at the ready, their eyes darting to every shadow. The cold wasn't just a physical presence—it felt alive, as if infused with the spirit of the mountain, watching us, judging us, waiting for a single misstep.
I adjusted the strap of my rifle, my other hand subconsciously touching the locket at my neck—a piece of the past, a reminder of why we ventured into this nightmare. Doctor White caught my gaze, her eyes wide behind her goggles, reflecting a fear we all felt but were trained not to show. We were here to find answers, to push the boundaries of science, but standing at the threshold of this dark fortress, I wondered if some boundaries were meant to remain intact.
Master Sergeant Neal Ross halted us with a raised fist just short of the entrance. He turned, his voice a low rasp barely audible over the wind. "Check your gear. Remember, radio silence once we're inside. Hand signals only unless absolutely necessary." Nods were exchanged under the weight of our helmets, the visors of which were beginning to frost over from the biting cold.
Captain Helms took the lead, while Private Hassan, one of the specialists, worked quickly to gain access through an exterior control panel. A few moments later, the massive blast doors began slowly creaking open, revealing a dark interior. Moments later, the massive blast doors began to creak slowly open, revealing the dark and foreboding interior beyond.
"Flashlights out," Captain Helms ordered, his voice low and tense as we reached the gaping maw of the entrance. "Clear this level first, then we find the armory. Move quietly, and keep your lights down." His command cut through the heavy silence like a blade, setting us into motion with a renewed sense of urgency, the dim beams of our flashlights slicing through the suffocating darkness ahead.
Helms signaled for us to fan out, weapons raised, as we moved toward the main corridor. The ash clung to every surface, tendrils snaking into the crevices, and the air carried a noxious stench that hung heavily in the cold. "Respirators on!" the captain ordered, his voice a harsh whisper. "Secure the entry level. We need to find the armory, the access ID cards can be found there."