Cold and damp seeping through your clothes, the smell of rot and something metallic—iron, maybe copper—thick in the air.

Dark. So dark it's like being blind.

A drip. Somewhere to your left. Steady. Counting seconds you can't keep track of.

And then—a sound. Not the drip. Something else. Closer.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Squelching through mud.

A flashlight beam cuts through the blackness, blinding you. A voice—gruff, breathless—follows.