The sound of the reboot was too loud. A low, guttural moan echoed from the vents. Then another. Then a thousand.

They reached the central hub, a cathedral of wires and dead monitors. Eli plugged in the drive. The screen flickered to life, the text glowing in a harsh, neon green.

They moved like ghosts through the shadows. The air tasted of rust and something sweeter—the scent of the Sleepers. Ahead, dozens of the pale, mutated horrors stood frozen in a grotesque ballet, their chests pulsing with a faint, rhythmic heartbeat.

To the world above, it was just a timestamp. To the four prisoners waking up in the dark, it was a death warrant. As the hydraulic locks hissed open, Eli stepped into the freezing slush of the floor. Across from him, his squad—Woods, Bishop, and Dauda—were already checking their gear.