's authoritarian performance. _Protocols_, Jordan thought, _are just the framework, the true challenges we're about to face lie well beyond the boundaries of any protocol._ They cleared their throat before speaking, tone cautious yet firm, "Let's remember, the unknown variables exceed the known. We should remain adaptive."

A murmur of agreement echoed from Sam Rivera, who leaned forward, lacing their fingers together as if weaving a digital framework in the air before them, "Exactly, adaptability could be the key to interpreting the signal distortions and system malfunctions. We shouldn't discount the… erratic."

Their words hung like an electric charge in the room, challenging Taylor's position with an inherent truth. Cruz’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but the agent masked it with a small nod, conceding to the omnipresent threat of the unpredictable. 

Alex glanced at Jordan, who never looked back, their gaze fixed instead on a distant point, as if envisioning the immense dark corridors they were soon to navigate in Dulce. Jordan was not one to embrace fantastical theories, but the air of cautious calculation betrayed a mind bracing for confrontation with the inexplicable, an internal battle between the evidence of their research and the calculating skepticism that kept them alive in their field.

The meeting adjourned with no further comments, the team members quietly retreading the paths to their personal preparations. Alex, trailing slightly behind, observed the others. _The cautious reserve Jordan wears like armor doesn't fool me_, he thought, _their analytical mind sees the patterns I do. And that's worth more than protocol. That's the connection we need to survive this._

As the agents dispersed into the labyrinth of the facility, lost in their thoughts and preparations, the base's halogen lights flickered, a brief and unnoticed harbingers of the darkness to come.

\*

A deserted corridor inside the facility stretched before Taylor Cruz, each footstep rhythmic and precise. Cruz, ambitious and meticulous, eyed the troops passing by with a sardonic tilt of the lips. Obedience—it was as much a tool as any weapon in the arsenal, and Cruz wielded it masterfully. To them, it was another step toward unfettered power within the dark bowels of the military complex.

Inside a secluded equipment bay, Cruz began checking over gear with mechanical efficiency. They traced fingers over the sleek surface of an encrypted radio transmitter. "If protocols are maintained," said Cruz aloud, rehearsing the speech for their subordinates, "not only will we re-establish a line of communication with Dulce, but we shall also illuminate the darkest secrets it conceals."

Agent Hayes appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and a knowing glint in their eyes. "You do understand," Jordan began, the words measured and probing, "that once we're in the depths, rank gives way to survival instincts. It's not about commands—it's empowerment through trust."

The sentiment snagged