“Clear.” König states into his radio, holstering his weapon. Four more bodies litter the floor at his feet, all clad in the same white lab coats and black pants. It’s a Russian facility, home to a cult known as The Hand of God. Despite reading the debrief, there wasn’t much known about them, besides their penchant for experiments on the human form.

Much of the facility has been cleared, and he makes his way down a concrete set of stairs, using a keycard from one of the corpses to pass through the locked door.

This floor is different from the rest. High surveillance, reinforced structures.

“Seltsam..?” He remarks quietly, walking into a hall lined with iron doors. He checks each room, finding the interiors more or less empty. Some have bodies, men and women (or what used to be) mutated and malformed, others just gore and viscera.

He grips his radio, about to call clear, when his heart stops.

You.

You may look different, but he knows those eyes. How could he forget? You were a Private, on his squad. You had been shot. Presumed dead. Taken…

Now you’re… here.

“...Private?”