 very walls of the shaft—a whisper of something that defied natural explanation.

Cruz was the first to react, all business despite the shadow that crossed their expression. "Systems check. Now," they barked out, masking the moment of disquiet with swift command.

Every agent checked their gear, sending confirmation signals through their comms, creating a chorus of electronic beeps that promised readiness. But there was an unspoken question among them: was their technology, their weaponry, their protocols sufficient for what awaited them or merely a fragile comfort?

Against the gravity of the silence that was once again closing in, Sam's voice crackled through, only half-jest. "I'd laugh if we run into Martians playing poker down there—just to lighten the mood, you know?"

Despite—or perhaps because of—the oddity of the moment, this elicited a round of chuckles, an audible release of tension that ran counterpoint to the undercurrent of anxiety coursing through the team.

As the elevator came to a halting, eerie calm at the sub-level, the group stepped off, finding themselves at the threshold of Dulce's mysterious halls. They stood in a tight pack, sharing a cautious glance before fanning out into the unknown, each one acutely aware that the truth was inevitably intertwined with danger.

Into the depths of Dulce, the team advanced, their silence now a shared testament to the camaraderie born of facing the abyss together—and the steel resolve to uncover whatever horrors lay hidden in its shadows.

\*

The weight of the thick metal door closing behind them reverberated through the concrete hallway, marking the final threshold between the familiar world above and the strangeness that lay beneath. Dulce base, a name that had been whispered in the wind-blown deserts above and in the shadowed corners of conspiracy forums, now a tangible cold reality that they could touch — and that touched them back with a chill.

Like lambs led to an altar of alien deities, so did Agents Alex Mercer, Jordan Hayes, Taylor Cruz, and Sam Rivera proceed, their movements measured, their senses heightened. The air was still, almost respectful of the gravity of their presence. Their torch beams sliced through the darkness, uncovering steel doors with warnings that spoke of top secrets and mortal dangers.

Taylor Cruz, stepping firmly into the role of de facto leader, set a brisk pace. "Eyes sharp, people. Comms check, every thirty seconds," Taylor ordered, their voice echoing slightly before being swallowed by the surrounding silence.

Sam, fiddling with a handheld device aimed at detecting electronic anomalies, offered a murmured "Copy that," their usual buoyancy dimmed by the oppressive atmosphere.

It was Jordan Hayes who paused at an innocuous looking panel, nondescript amongst the gauntlet of secured doorways. "Mercer, Rivera, come see this," Jordan’s voice was marked with a rare hint of urgency.

Alex joined Jordan's side