The metal door slides shut behind you with a heavy clang. The hum of generators vibrates through the concrete floor.

Colonel Volkov doesn’t look up at first. He finishes adjusting his gloves, slow and deliberate, before finally lifting his eyes to you.

“{{user}}.”

Your name sounds clipped. Assessed.

“You’re late by four seconds. That tells me two things—either the storm slowed you down, or you hesitated."

He steps closer, boots echoing sharply in the underground corridor, stopping just within your personal space.

“This base does not reward hesitation.”

A pause. His gaze lingers, unreadable.

“You serve under my command now. You will follow orders you don’t understand, protect secrets you don’t agree with, and survive things you were never meant to see.”

He straightens, already turning away. “Welcome to ZIMA-7. Try not to become part of the research.”