The Shadow Under Eschaton

Part 1

Deana Lawson arrived at Eschaton University after grabbing breakfast from Company Coffee, a new and overly patriotic coffee shop. She could see the appeal. Deana examined the red, white and blue cup as she thought about her assignment.

Deana was a reporter for the The Dutchess Sentinel in Poughkeepsie, New York. On a clear day, she could see Eschaton’s Gothic spires across the Hudson river, behind the spans of the Mid-Hudson Bridge.

Deana was sent to Eschaton University in search of her colleague, Leon Hill, who had been missing for just over a week. He’d been doing a follow-up story on the history of the school, but something had gone wrong. According to Evie Marshall, her Editor, he submitted a series of increasingly deranged and paranoid field reports, then disappeared.

Deana turned over a business card in her hand. It had the name of a local private detective on it: Frank “Mack” McAllister. And with it, Evie had given her a warning.

“I smell a cover-up,” said Evie. “Get Mack to back you up. Find Leon and come back safe.”

“What about law enforcement—“ said Deana. Evie cut her off.

“We called them two days ago,” She said. “No help there. Said an investigation turned-up no sign of Leon. And they have no leads.”

“That’s a bunch of BS,” said Deana.

“Exactly,” said Evie. “Be careful. Leon’s last communications don’t make any sense. And we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“Great,” said Deana with a sigh.

“Interview some key people at the university. Someone’s got to know something.”

***

After a brief phone conversation, Mack agreed to meet Deana in a parking lot on the outskirts of the university. He said he’d tail her, and instructed her to act normal.

“Don’t look for me,” he said. “I’ll be out of sight, anyway.”

Deana had been all over campus, requesting interviews and generally asking simple questions about Leon. No one was talking. Everyone looked at the picture Deana flashed, and shook their head. It was a complete waste of a day.

The campus was quite large, and Deana’s feet were starting to hurt. She sat on a stone bench for a breather.

In front of her was a huge, black cannon. The plaque said “Big Bertha” was the only remaining gun from the civil war fort that gave the town its name. It was a Navy Brooke rifle, what ever that was.

Deana had to admit the place was quite beautiful. There were lots of green spaces, parks, gardens and statues everywhere. But the buildings were something else. The architecture was an odd mixture of dark gray Brutalist concrete and vertical Gothic. Deana found it unsettling. The sun was setting, so Deana decided to get a bite at a nearby fast food joint.

***

Bison Burg was just the kind of mindless place she was after. It was wild west themed. The mascot was a ridiculous-looking, anthropomorphic bison in denim overalls, cowboy boots and hat. It had simple fare: burgers, fries and milkshakes. Just what Deana needed.

She was just biting into her sandwich when a young man approached her. He was thin, had shaggy brown hair and wore an over-stuffed backpack. His eyes were wide and shifty. He looked scared.

“Hey,” he said. “Are you that reporter lady?”

“That’s Me,” said Deana. “Deana Lawson. And you are…”

“Jay.”

“Just Jay?”

“Ah, Oh! Sorry. Um…Holloway. Jay Holloway. I’m a student at Eschaton. Computer Science…and Mechanical Engineering.”

“Dual major,” said Deana. “Impressive. Probably a crushing course-load.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”

Deana made a show of wiping her hands, then thrust one out at Jay.

“Good to meet you,” she said. “Know anything about my missing colleague, Leon Hill?”

Jay looked around, then said in hushed tones, “Yes, but…we can’t talk here.”

Deana shrugged. “Ok then… Where?”

“My dorm room,” said Jay. “My room-mate will be out until 10, so we’ll have some privacy.”

“Wait,” she said. “How do you know Leon?”

“Oh!” he stood bolt upright, like she had just pinched his side. “He found me. I made some posts on the Eschaton Secrets subreddit…how I got into some places. Bypassed security.”

“I see,” she said. “And you…do that a lot?”

“Well, no,” said Jay. “But he offered me a hundred bucks to…well…I’ll show you.”

***

“What am I looking at?” said Deana. She was standing behind Jay, who was seated at his elaborate computer setup. There were four large screens in a 2 by 2 configuration. All had various articles and social media feeds on them. The one closest to her was where Jay was making his presentation.

The three-dimensional map had colored sections, complete with annotations and layers that Jay could toggle to expose or hide deeper structures. It was very professional. To Deana, it looked like a construction blueprint, or something an architect would present to an industrial client.

“Very nice,” said Deana. Her eyes moved around the map, looking for something that would indicate Leon’s whereabouts.

“The university was built at the site of an American Civil War fort,” he said. He brought up several images on another monitor. “The fort sat on the bluffs overlooking the Hudson river, and had rows of massive cannons to fire down on passing enemy ships. It didn’t see much use during the war, as West Point, to the South, addressed most of the river traffic.”

“Ok…” said Deana. She was already getting bored.

“The town of Fort Highpoint took the name of the fort as it grew up around it,” he continued. “The fort fell into disrepair after the Civil War, but saw use again during World War I and World War II, where it was given significant repairs and updates.”

Deana sighed. “So—“

Jay, concerned he was losing her, switched to a faster delivery.

“Later, during the cold war,” he said, “the fort was torn down, and plans were made for Eschaton University to be built on top of its foundation. The only thing that remains of the original fort is a static display of a 10-inch, 300-pound Parrott gun. The gun was forged at West Point Foundry, and made famous sinking the Confederate submarine, Ardent Cooper, which was attempting to—“

“Ok, enough,” she said, with no small amount of impatience in her voice. “I don’t need a history lesson. Where’s Leon?”

“I’m getting to that,” he said. “But it’s important that you know some of the history, so you can make sense of what you see down there.”

“Down where?” said said.

Jay zoomed the map out, then scrolled down. There were many levels below the surface of the university. It was a labyrinth of rooms and tunnels of various sizes.

“Wait,” Deana said. “Leon went down into some tunnels under the college? Why? What was he looking for down there?”

Jay spun around in the chair to face her. “History!” He said with a grin.

“History? Couldn’t he find some history in the library? I’m sure Eschaton has a lot of really good books on the subject.”

“Sure,” said Jay. His face twisted into mask of sarcasm. “Fake books full of fake shit. Or, at best, half-truths. The true history…the real shit that went down…it’s here!” He pointed at the screen. “Underground.”

“Great…” Deana was not relishing the thought of going on a wild goose chase into some dark cavern. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “So where is Leon? Where did you take him?”

“Ok,” said Jay. He held out his hands, as if to say “slow down”.

Deana looked as if she was going to smack him.

“He saw images I’d posted. Where I found the best stuff—“

“Where!”

“It’s deep—“

“How deep?!”

Jay turned around to his computer. He scrolled down to the deepest level on his map—an area labeled “Undercroft”.

“What the hell does that mean? Undercroft.”

Jay was squirming in his chair. He looked away. “It’s like…the basement of a castle, or something.”

“Perfect.” Deana dreaded the thought. They don’t pay me enough for this shit, she thought. “Ok, let’s go—“

“Wait, wait!” cried Jay. “We can’t just go down there. You have to prepare for it. I…have to prepare. Set things up!”

“How long?! Leon could be in serious trouble. He could be dying!”

“Ok. I…give me a day. A day at least!”

Deana looked at him closely, to see if she could push him further. Jay’s eyes were bulging. He seemed like he was ready to jump out of his skin.

“Fine,” she said. She gave him one of her cards. “Call me when you’re ready. But please be quick about it. I don’t want to find Leon’s corpse down there.”

***

Deana went home and ate the remains of her Bison Burg meal. It was cold and greasy—not a good combo. She was in a foul mood, and she jumped when her cell rang.

“It’s Mack,” said the voice. “Sorry for the late call. I had to do some research. You’re gonna want to hear this.”

“Ok,” said Deana. “What do you have for me?”

“You were followed today.”

“Followed? By who?”

“None other than the chief of Eschaton security.”

“I’m guessing that’s not normal.”

“No,” said Mack. “Far from normal. They have a small army of security guards. You must be quite important to them, if the big guy himself is following you around.”

“Ok,” said Deana. “Security was watching me. What else?”

“That’s it,” said Mack. “But I did some digging on the security chief.”

“Lay it on me,” said Deana.

“This guy is Stanley Sincline, a career Army Intelligence officer. Lieutenant Colonel. He served in three wars—no combat, but highly decorated. Latest was two tours in Afghanistan. Got out a few years ago.”

“So?” said Diana.

“So?!” said Mack. “When I think of college security, I think ex-police officer. If you’re lucky, maybe a former FBI agent. Sincline should be in charge of a CIA black site somewhere. He’s extremely over-qualified for the position. And over-paid. His tax filings indicate that he makes more than Lynda Shields, the Chancellor of the university. About a hundred-grand more.”

“Your kidding,” said Deana.

“Not kidding,” he said. “And you have to wonder…what he’s doing there to pull that kind of check?”

***

Deana spent the next day pacing around her apartment. She tried to put the thought of Leon dying in a pool of blood out of her mind. No call came from Jay. And that night, she slept poorly.

***

Deana’s cell rang at nine the next morning. It was Jay calling to say he was ready to take Deana down to the Undercroft. He told her where to meet him, and she said she’d be there in 30 minutes.

Deana showered, put on some dark-colored work-out clothes and grabbed her small day bag. It was always packed with some essentials: a flashlight, first-aid kit, multi-tool, a bottle of water and some snack bars. She threw the bag in her car and drove across the Mid-Hudson Bridge. Gold morning light gleamed off the buildings of Eschaton University.

Part 2

Deana followed Jay’s instructions. She was to meet him behind a large greenhouse on the edge of campus, near the woods. She found Jay sitting on the ground, with his back to a matte gray utility box. His face was illuminated by the laptop computer in front of him.

“You’re late,” he said, as she approached.

“Security was tighter than I expected at the front gate. Had to take the long way around.”

They moved quickly through the winding pathways of the greenhouse, ducking behind tall racks of climbing ivy and dense ferns. The humid air was thick with the scent of damp soil, decomposing leaves, and the faint sweetness of blooming orchids. Jay stopped, and Deana crouched beside a cart stacked with empty planters.

Jay motioned for her to follow. “Stay quiet. There’s minimal staff on today, but we could still get caught. Come on.”

They slipped past the misting stations and into a narrow stairwell that led to a basement storage area. The scent of plants gave way to the musty staleness of old fertilizer and rusting tools. Rows of gardening equipment, bags of soil, and dusty machinery filled the room.

A pair of workers walked through the space, chatting about an upcoming campus event. Deana and Jay pressed themselves against the wall, in shadow, until the voices faded behind them.

In the far corner, Jay found a hatch, which lead to the sub-basement. The heavy iron door groaned as he pulled it open, revealing a steep set of metal stairs descending down into the darkness.

They moved carefully, their footsteps echoing off walls lined with thick electrical conduits, old water pipes, and dusty air ducts. The infrastructure here was minimal—flickering lights, exposed wiring, and rusted grates. It hadn’t been used in decades.

Jay led Deana through a maze of passageways, and he constantly referred to the map on his laptop for guidance. Then they came to a corner, and Jay motioned for to Deana to stop. He carefully and quickly peered around the edge with one eye, then snapped back. Then he turned to Deana.

“Ok, this is it,” he said. “There’s a security door in there. It’s hard to see, designed to blend-in. But it’s high-tech with a biometric lock. Give me a minute.”

Deana waited for Jay to do his thing. After several minutes, she was about ask him what was taking so damned long. As she opened her mouth, Jay looked up and smiled.

“Ok, we can go in,” he said. “I spoofed the camera. I’m feeding it looped video of this room before we arrived.”

Jay went around the corner and Deana followed. At the end of the passage stood a reinforced steel door, devoid of markings except for a discreet, recessed camera mounted in the ceiling. The door wasn’t meant to be seen—set into the concrete with precision, as if the builders had designed it to disappear into the wall.

They were invisible to the camera, but the door’s lock, however, was another problem. A panel beside the door featured a complex biometric scanner. Jay exhaled sharply. “This might take a while. Sorry.”

Deana glanced over her shoulder. The silence here felt unnatural, like the building itself was watching them. The stale air carried a metallic tinge. “Make it quick!”

“Good thing the wireless network extends to this section. I need it for this.”

After several tense minutes, the scanner flickered green. Deana, startled, jumped back.

“Got it,” said Jay.

The door hissed, then slid open with a pneumatic whoosh.

“C’mon!” Jay motioned as he ran through the door. “Before it closes again!”

They entered a narrow staircase that led them deeper—past modern reinforcements, and past several concrete barriers—until they stood within the old bones of Eschaton University.

Jay opened his laptop and began to poke at it.

“What are you doing now?” asked Deana.

“Had to release the camera from the feed loop,” he said. “Don’t want security finding it like that. Also—“ A few more jabs at the keyboard. “There. Had to remove a log entry which showed the door had opened.”

“Smart,” said Deana. She was impressed. Jay really seemed to know what he was doing.

Jay closed the laptop, looked around and smiled. “Wow. Look at those walls!”

Deana looked. “So? Red brick. Nothing special.”

“These are the Civil War-era foundations. The walls here are ten-feet thick, designed to withstand the siege guns of the era. Well…resist them. Toward the end of the Civil War, most forts were earthen works—because, you know, rifled artillery could easily blast apart brick.”

“Fascinating.” Deana rolled her eyes. Then she looked at Jay and smiled. “Sorry. I know you love the history of this place.”

The brickwork stretched into the darkness, cracked and eroded in places where time and neglect had taken their toll.

A rusted iron gate hung open to one side, leading to a row of prison cells. Most were empty, their bars long since removed, but one held something unsettling—a skeleton still bound in shackles, slumped against the wall.

Deana swallowed hard. “Jesus.”

Jay took a step closer, the beam of his flashlight illuminating a brittle scrap of parchment posted on the wall outside the cell. The ink was faded, but the writing was clear enough to make out:

Condemned for heresy, 1864.

The word ‘heresy’ sent a chill through Deana’s spine.

Further in, the passage collapsed into a jagged hole where the structure had been breached. Beyond it, a crawlspace yawned into the darkness.

Jay stopped to put his laptop into his pack. Then slung it onto his back. He took a deep breath, crouched down, and squeezed through. Deana followed.

Deana was half-way through when she got stuck in the passage. She fought the instinct to cry out, but the rest of her went into full panic. Her blood ran cold, and her vision began to narrow.

“You coming, or what?” said Jay from the other side.

“I…” said Deana. “I’m stuck!” She gave several more pulls, and finally something gave. Her shirt and pants tore in several places, but she was free. She climbed the rest of the way through. She stood up, turned and gave an emphatic double-middle-finger to the hole.

***

The old brick gave way to concrete, steel, and remnants of an era of mechanized slaughter. Desks with telegraph sets sat frozen in time, maps tacked to the walls and yellowed pages of The New York Times pinned beneath glass. The light here was intermittent—on steady for several minutes, then wavering or blinking on and off. Deana hated it. She found the effect disorienting.

Jay’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “This place is amazing. A total time capsule! In World War I, this part of Fort Highpoint was added and used extensively.” He gestured to the walls, covered in wartime headlines:

WAR IN EUROPE!

BERLIN SEIZED! KAISER FLEES TO HOLLAND!

GERMANY SURRENDERS!

WILSON’S LEAGUE OF NATIONS!

Propaganda posters peeled from the walls, urging young men to enlist or to buy war bonds. A Sears catalog lay open on a desk, pages brittle with age. An oil painting of Woodrow Wilson sat in the corner, its once-proud colors now muted beneath a thick layer of dust. Deana was particularly disturbed by a propaganda poster of the German Kaiser, who was represented as a spider. It said, “Don’t Talk – Spies are Listening.”

“Not bad for a hundred-year-old basement,” Deana muttered, but Jay was already moving ahead.

Deana and Jay reached a lower level, which was in complete darkness. They switched on their flashlights and looked around.

Jay crept forward with Deana close behind. Clearly there was something here Jay was wary of. He was wearing a pair of non-tinted sunglasses, like people wore at a shooting range.

There was an almost inaudible click, followed by the sound of something humming to life. To Deana, it sounded like a charging camera flash.

“Hold on,” Jay whispered. “Don’t move.”

“Shit,” Deana whispered back. “We’re not going to get blown-up, are we?”

“No,” said Jay. “But they’ll alert security if I don’t act quickly!” He opened his laptop open and began typing.

“Why? There’s nothing here.”

“There must be something,” said Jay, sounding distracted. “Here. Take these.”

He held out the glasses without looking at her.

“What?” said Deana. She grabbed the glasses and put them on. “I don’t—“ Then she saw them. Dim white lines, criss-crossing the floor. Hundreds of them.

“The floor here is lousy with laser trips.”

“I don’t know what that means…but I’ll take your word for it.”

***

Deana was laying on the floor, giving serious thoughts to catching a nap. Jay was sitting nearby with his computer on his lap. He’d been fiddling with the thing for over an hour.

“There it is,” said Jay. He hit a key, emphatically. “Boom!”

Deana heard several low clicks. She sat up and looked around. The white lines were gone.

“Took you long enough!” said Deana. She was more than a little annoyed.

“Sorry!” said Jay. “There’s a protocol. Had to follow the steps exactly.”

At the far end of the room there were steps down into a larger storage area. Wooden crates and metal storage boxes lined the walls. Some bore the logos of long-dead corporations. Others displayed something more disturbing—modern insignias, belonging to defense contractors still in operation today. Deana read off the names as the beam of her light illuminated them.

“Aventor Aerospace, Global Atomics, Molecular Dynamics, Rayon-Theta, Titan Maritime, Vorpal Industries.” Her face hardened. “These shouldn’t be here. What the hell is going on?”

“No idea,” said Jay. “They do seem out of place. Out of…time.”

“They look new,” said Deana. “Like they were put here recently.”

Deana pulled out a pad and pen and jotted some notes. “I have a feeling this is about to get a lot more interesting.”

“Maybe so,” said Jay. He moved the beam of his flashlight around the area. “Just so you know…this is officially the deepest I’ve ever been. This is the Undercroft.”

***

A rusted metal hatch was embedded in the floor, partially open. They pointed their flashlights down inside. It was a small, narrow room with unmarked wooden crates and an array of hand tools and other dull metal objects Deana couldn’t identify.

Jay lowered himself down carefully, and then raised his arms up to help Deana. The air was stifling here. It was hot and full of dust. Deana suddenly felt the need to get out of this cramped room.

On the wall nearby was a large, rusty metal handle, which looked like it opened the floor-to-ceiling sliding door it was attached to. Deana threw her weight into the handle, and the door reluctantly slid open with several loud screeches.

Deana and Jay carefully walked down the ramp on the other side of the door. They waved their hands at the billowing cloud of dust that had been stirred up. When their vision cleared, they realized they had just emerged from a train car. It had been left here with two connected cars, one fore and aft. All looked long forgotten, the paint on their sides faded into obscurity. But there was something else. Deana saw white chalk scrawled on the side of the train car:

If you find this, go get help. Do not follow me! – LEON

Deana exhaled sharply. “Leon was here.”

Jay looked at Deana. She could tell he was scared. “Maybe we should do what he says.”

“It’s too late for that,” said Deana. “Plus, we don’t know what we’re dealing with. He could be nearby and need medical attention. We have to keep going.”

They were in a cavern that seemed to be hollowed out of solid rock. The walls had vertical lines running down them, a tell-tale sign of dynamite blasting.

The train car they’d emerged from was part of a rail siding where other rolling stock was being kept. The ceiling of the cavern was very close here, but just past the tracks, the ground sloped downward. From here the cavern opened up into a wide open space.

Artificial lights had been strung across the top of the cave, and moored in place with pitons. Each projected wide, white circles on the ground below. Powerful construction lights were set up, illuminating the outer walls. In the periphery, stalactites and stalagmites added an interesting, yet sinister complexion to the place.

As Deana descended into the open area, she noted everything here looked temporary, unfinished. It was like a movie set, or a construction site. The floor of the cavern was covered in dirt, but the central area had been topped with light-gray stone and gravel. On the far side of the cave, against the wall, were two sets of concrete buildings. One set looked like living quarters. The other was more purpose built, like store fronts in a strip mall. Each section had a large glass window, so one could see everything in the room beyond. Most of the rooms were dark. One was lit, and one had a light which was intermittent.

In front of them, set some distance apart, were about ten trailers. Some had the wheels still on them, other had the wheels removed.

One of the trailers was more prominent. It was double-wide, made from two of the trailers hastily welded together, the seams left unpainted. On top, there was a short pole, upon which hung a faded, red flag a single white star.

Deana approached this trailer first, and was rewarded by more of Leon’s white chalk.

“HERE”, it said, printed in large letters on the side.

There was a placard next to the door, which said:

OSS – General William Donovan

Beside it, several clipboards were hanging. A sign below them announced:

Today’s Interrogation Schedule.

Deana and Jay entered the trailer and were amazed by what they found. It was another time capsule, but this time, from World War II. Just inside the door was a large painting of president Harry S. Truman. The walls were littered with framed newspaper pages, with headlines proclaiming:

WAR IS OVER IN EUROPE

VICTORY! JAPAN QUITS

GERMANY SURRENDERS

HITLER IS DEAD

The inside of the trailer seemed to be set up for multiple purposes. It was General Donovan’s office, having a very large wooden desk and comfortable-looking chair. It was a small briefing room, with twenty-or-so chairs with built-in desktops, like Deana remembered from elementary school. And it was a monitoring station, with an array of ten dark gray television screens, each marked with a number.

What the hell were they doing here?, thought Deana.

“I found this,” said Jay. He handed her several sheets of paper, which looked like they had been ripped out of a ringed notebook. “I think Leon left them for us.”

Deana read the pages in disbelief.

I’m leaving these notes for several reasons:

1. Posterity.

2. Breadcrumbs for myself. I don’t know how deep this rabbit hole goes, and I might need a trail to find my way out again!

3. If I run into trouble, they’re for anyone who comes looking for me.

This place is a revelation. It’s existence changes everything we thought we knew about the post-WWII era and who we thought had perished during the war.

I’ve spent about eight hours pouring over evidence in the camp, and the conclusion is undeniable. Everyone knows about Operation Paperclip, and some remember a similar operation in Japan debriefing members of Unit 731, but I don’t think anyone knows about this.

Project Revenant was a classified operation to fake the deaths of high-level Nazi officers, scientists and engineers. They brought them down here with the promise of a new, comfortable life…if they provided valuable information. They got very little of value from these men, but it looks like that wasn’t really their plan. They tortured most of them to death. I hate to say it, but that works for me.

The OSS (before they became the CIA) recorded hours of interrogations here. Hans Kammler, Adolf Eichmann, Heinrich Müller, Lorenz Hackenholt…and Hermann fucking Göring! It’s like the who’s-who of Nazi assholes who either went missing, or died in a way that prevented them from being identified. Very clever. They took most of the evidence with them. My guess is that it’s either been destroyed or buried in some secret vault under the Pentagon. Who knows?

Thank god I brought my camera with me. The photos alone will make me famous. There’s still blood stains and other…matter…they didn’t bother to clean up. I got it all recorded. I’ll get the Pulitzer for sure!

I’m moving on. I see light coming from a tunnel to the North, so I’m heading that way. I’ll leave more notes there. – Leon

“If you’re still alive,” said Deana to herself.

“What?” said Jay.

“Did you read this?” asked Deana. “It seems a little over the top.”

“I don’t think it is,” said Jay. “Look here.”

Jay was pointing to a button on a console near the bank of televisions. Leon had marked it with chalk.

PRESS!, It said, with an arrow added for emphasis.

“Well?” said Jay.

“Fine,” said Deana. “Do it.”

Jay pressed the button, and the screen nearest them came on along with a series of protestations from the old equipment. Static, wavy lines, frames flipping vertically, then slowly settling. A gray-scale image finally came into focus.

The image rapidly zoomed out. A man was seated in a chair. The chair was surrounded by pools of black—blood spatters. The blood wasn’t from the man, his face and body seemed undamaged. He was dressed only in an undershirt and boxer briefs. His uniform, of the expensive, Hugo Boss variety, was hung neatly on a hanger at the edge of the frame.

“Holy shit,” said Deana. “I know that guy! That’s Joseph Goebbels!”

“Yeah,” said Jay. “Not for long.”

A man came into frame. The person operating the camera was careful to keep his identity hidden, his head was always out of the shot. The man was putting on shiny leather gloves.

Goebbels looked up at the man, and said something inaudible.

His answer came in the form of a punch to the face, which deviated his septum. Blood flowed out of both nostrils and dripped down onto his shirt.

“Okay…” said Deana. “That’s about all I need to see.”

She exited the trailer and caught her breath. Jay came soon after.

“You missed the best part!” he said. “They brought out a drill and—“

“You’re not funny,” said Deana.

Jay smiled. “Well, you have to admit…the bastards deserved it.”

“I don’t think anyone deserves to be tortured,” said Deana. She looked at him with a severe expression. “Ok. Let’s get out of here. Leon said he was heading North. Let’s go find him.”

***

The train tunnel was completely dark, except for the single point of light ahead. It was faint at first, but as they neared the threshold, the brightness became mesmerizing. This was not the dim glow of ancient bulbs or flickering fluorescents. It was Sunlight.

They stepped forward, emerging from the darkness, and into a vast, impossible space.

The opening in front of them stretched for miles, an immense hollowed-out cylinder with towering buildings rising from the rock floor. At its apex, an artificial sun cast golden light over an entire underground cityscape.

Jay’s breath caught in his throat. “This is…” His eyes darted around the scene, and he shook his head. “How is this possible?”

“I don’t believe it,” said Deana. Her fingers tightened into fists. This couldn’t exist. And yet, here it was.

A secret metropolis, built deep beneath Eschaton University.

Part 3

Deana had been watching the sleek trains for hours. Their arrivals and departures, announced over the city-wide public address system, occurred with clockwork regularity. She noted the ceaseless flow—every train bound for the tallest building in the center of the city, a vast, partially subterranean distribution center shrouded in mystery.

Overwhelmed by the scale of it all, her mind reeled. What must it cost? And who benefited? What were they really doing down here—and why? The questions swirled in her thoughts without answer.

From their refuge on a high plateau, she and Jay enjoyed an excellent view of the city. Behind them, the dark, arched mouth of the train tunnel lay abandoned—a silent portal to the unknown. At the bottom of the incline to her left, where the tracks met the city below, a blockade halted the lines. Beyond, several groups of linked cars were spread along the track. A small engine would arrive to retrieve them, pulling the cars down into one of the many dark tunnels feeding the central building’s underground labyrinth, only to return shortly after with more.

The city itself held its own surprises. The first revelation was the abundance of plant life. Great swaths below had been transformed into green-space, nurtured by the large artificial star at the apex of the dome overhead. The area around their hideout was lush and overgrown; Deana had even adopted a large, leafy bush at the edge of the terrace as her lookout. How could vegetation thrive in what was essentially an underground cave?

Then two more marvels unfolded. The artificial sun dimmed, fading to a cool blue that mimicked moonlight. With that change, the dome transformed into a sky streaked with drifting clouds, and the outer walls of the city shifted—from a regular pattern of red brick to reveal a breathtaking vista of snow-capped mountains.

For exactly five minutes, rain fell. Deana and Jay dashed into the nearby train tunnel, shivering as the cold downpour seeped into their bones. The rain, both a physical and emotional chill, underscored the day’s roller-coaster of sensations, amplifying the constant low-level fear that had shadowed her all day.

Glancing at her watch, Deana noted that night was coming in sync with the world above. As they emerged from the tunnel, a cool breeze and a slight scent of ozone greeted them—a quiet prelude to what might come next. A subtle vibration in the ground and a distant mechanical hum reminded her that the city’s heartbeat was never truly silent.

Jay yawned, and for a moment, Deana nearly followed suit. A fleeting thought of backtracking to the interrogation camp they had left not long ago crossed her mind, but she quickly blocked it out. Sleep might have been a welcome escape—if not for the nagging worry that Leon might be in danger.

Then, abruptly, the public address system crackled with static before falling silent. Deana’s attention snapped to the shiny black horn of a nearby speaker, a prickle of unease rising in her.

“Ok, listen up,” a gruff voice boomed, shattering the calm. “We haven’t formally met, so let me introduce myself. I’m Stan Sincline, security chief of the operation you’ve stumbled into.”

In an instant, terror gripped both Deana and Jay. Their eyes widened as they crouched down in tall grass, scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger.

“We don’t have an exact fix on your position,” the voice continued, “but it doesn’t matter. You tripped several sensors coming down here, and we have a general sense of where you are. Do my security teams a solid by turning yourselves in right now. Come out with your hands on your head, and someone will come pick you up. No harm done, no charges filed.”

Jay raised his eyebrows in silent questioning, while Deana furrowed her brow and shook her head firmly. She couldn’t risk a confrontation—not now. Too much remained unknown. And where was Leon? That question pounded in her mind as Jay’s eyes darted nervously, and her heart hammered with fear.

***

“Damn it!” said Jay. He kicked at the dirt under his feet. “Too many attempts. I’m locked out. Encryption’s too strong.”

“Shit,” said Deana. She had been watching Jay try to hack his way in to the wireless network for the better part of two hours. “Isn’t there something else you can try?”

Jay said nothing, and Deana didn’t press him. His face was turning red, and his expression said he wanted to throw his laptop down into the valley below.

“Maybe we could steal something?” said Deana. “Like one of their laptops, or a security badge?”

“Maybe,” said Jay. He didn’t sound convinced. “But I think there’s an easier way. These trains make stops at low security checkpoints, all day, all around the city.”

“Yeah,” said Deana. “They’re scanning the cargo, or something.”

“Right. I think there’s plenty of time after the scans and before the train departs.”

“Time for what?”

“Time for us to sneak on board.”

***

They’d been lucky so far. The progress had been slow sneaking down to the train station. They timed their movements to evade the security patrols, and were now hiding in a narrow alley across from where the trains stopped. In a bit of providence, fog had descended on the area, dimming colors softening sounds and giving them some extra cover, when and if they decided to make the short dash to an open train car.

Deana had plenty of desire, but no will. They were almost sighted several times due to dumb luck and bad timing.

“C’mon!” whispered Jay. “This is the third train! It’s not gonna get any better than this. We have to go!”

“I know. I know!” said Deana. Her frustration and self-loathing were reaching peak levels. “I just…you know what? Fuck it!”

Deana broke cover and dashed across the gap. It was no more than fifteen steps, but her dread made it feel like ten times the distance. Jay waited a few seconds, then dashed across to join her. Now they were inside the train car, crouched behind some wooden crates, wide-eyed, panting and grinning at each other like idiots.

***

The building’s cold corridors were a maze of flickering lights and silent danger. In a cramped, forgotten alcove, Jay found a terminal. His fingers danced over keys until the screen revealed what he feared—and hoped for in equal measure: Leon was indeed in the building. He was confined on sub-level two.

Deana and Jay slipped past patrols, the hum of security systems a constant and oppressive backdrop. But then, fate splintered their fragile plan. An automated door slammed down between them. Deana’s breath caught as a nearby monitor flickered to life. It was displaying a live feed from the other side of the door.

Jay was backing up, hands raised. In front of him, several guards armed with submachine guns were advancing on him. Deana watched in silent horror as Jay was ruthlessly gunned down.

“Why—?” Deana screamed, the shock twisting her voice.

A distorted figure materialized on the screen—a man with cold, calculating eyes. It was Sincline. “He was expendable. Not important. You’re the one I need.”

“Me? Why?!” Deana demanded, anger lacing every word.

“Come up to my office, and I’ll explain everything.”

“Go fuck yourself!” she spat, pivoting on her heel and bolting down the corridor. She might have imagined it, but Deana thought she heard the sound of Sincline laughing behind her.

As she made her way down to where she believed Leon was bing held, Deana passed through several armored doors. She used the simple interface to shut and lock them behind her.

Sincline’s voice echoed over the PA: “Clever, but that will only slow my teams down. You’re simply delaying the inevitable.”

***

“They’re all out looking for you, Deana,” Leon whispered urgently.

Inside the cell, Leon leaned against the cold metal bars. His eyes glinted with a mix of mischief and regret. “That’s why this block was left unguarded. We’ve only got a little time. Help me open the cell.”

“How?!” Deana stared in at him, her hands gripping the bars. Her adrenaline was ebbing and her sweat was making her feel cold and weak.

“I’ll walk you trough it,” said Leon. “This story will blow the lid off of everything. I’ll win the Pulitzer for sure!”

“I don’t care about a headline,” she snapped. “I care about getting you out of here. Getting us both out!”

Leon walked Deana through the process of opening his cell via the cell block’s security center. Deana’s focus was singular, and with trembling determination, she manipulated cold metal lever that controlled the lock to Leon’s cell.

As the cell door slid open, alarms shrieked to life. Red lights pulsed like a heartbeat on every wall.

Deana ran back to Leon in a panic.

“Follow me—I know the way,” Leon urged.

He led her through several labyrinthine maintenance corridors. The the clamor of alarms grew quiet behind, but their footsteps echoed loudly against metal and concrete around them.

They reached a narrow ladder embedded in the wall. It was connected to a sealed hatch, which loomed overhead.

Leon paused, his gaze heavy with urgency. “Up you go!” he commanded.

Hesitating only a heartbeat, Deana gripped the cold rungs and climbed. With a forceful shove, she sent the metal hatch swinging open. Darkness yawned above her as she pulled herself through.

Deana heard the muffled thud of struggle below. Two security guards appeared and tackled Leon. The hatch slammed shut, sealing away the chaos. “You bastards!” she cried. Her voice ricocheted strangely in cavernous space around her.

Overhead, a single spotlight snapped on, illuminating the imposing figure of security chief Sincline. Two more spotlights revealed armed men, machine guns trained on her.

Deana was torn between the need to cry and the desire to rush Sincline and beat him to death with her fists.

Then Sincline’s voice rang out, amplified and disturbingly jovial:

“You made it! Well done!”

Clapping erupted, a monstrous sound that swelled into the cheers of an unseen crowd.

The lights finally came up, and Deana found herself in a vast indoor stadium, packed with smiling, applauding faces. Confusion and dread churned in her gut.

***

Later, in an office that defied every expectation of confinement, Deana sat across from Sincline. The room was enormous—walls of black stone tiles, floor-to-ceiling textured pillars, and an entire wall of glass, offering a panoramic view of an underground city. The entire room was bathed in a warm orange glow of the artificial sun.

“How long did you know?” said Deana.

“We were monitoring you the whole time,” said Sincline. “It was a test.

“A test? Why? For what?”

Sincline leaned forward, his tone smooth and calculated. “We’re extending an invitation for you to join this operation. I think by now you’ve gotten a good idea about what we’re doing down here, and what’s at stake.”

“National security?”

“That’s right. It’s been running non-stop since WWII.”

Deana’s mind reeled. “I—I don’t know. This is a lot to take in.”

A soft chuckle cut through the tension. “I have something that might help you decide.”

A side door swung open. In stepped Leon and, impossibly, Jay—very much alive—and trailing them was her editor-in-chief, Evie Marshall. The revelation was as shocking as it was surreal.

Deana’s stomach twisted. She clenched her fists. “But I thought—”

Sincline interrupted with a wry chuckle. “You thought wrong.”

Leon sat on the edge of a sleek desk, arms folded. “Consider it a second job interview.”

Deana swallowed hard. “A job interview. Ok. But what if I had failed?”

Evie stepped forward, her tone calm and self-assured. “We knew you wouldn’t.”

“You said this is a matter of national security,” Deana pressed. “I’ve read about some secret operations in the Hudson Valley. Is this…a…a Phoenix thing?”

Sincline considered the question for a moment. “This operation started as an OSS/Donovan holdover. After the war we were rolled into the same continuity organs that eventually became PHOENIX. Most of them dissolved or rebranded. We didn’t. We had the prisoners, the artifacts, the trains — too valuable to break up. So PHOENIX filed us under ‘legacy asset’ and left us buried. We answer to them on paper. Day to day, we run ourselves.”

A chill ran down Deana’s spine as Sincline continued, “We’re tasked with studying and reverse-engineering exotic and occult devices—artifacts from across the globe. Technically, we’re part of Arcadia, PHOENIX’s cultural continuity program.”

“Arcadia,” repeated Deana. “Cultural Continuity? Why does PHOENIX need something like that?”

“If civilization falls, its symbols must survive—to remind whoever rebuilds what was lost. Our vaults hold the true relics of human achievement. Authentic history. Authentic memory. Authentic myth. Most of what you see top-side, in museums and secure federal buildings is fake—carefully created duplicates—often down to the molecular level.”

“You’re kidding,” said Deana. “So something like the Mona Lisa… isn’t real?”

“I never joke about such things,” said Sincline. “And the Mona Lisa is real. It’s just not the one that Da Vinci painted.”

“You mentioned exotic and occult devices,” said Deana. “What exactly are we talking about here?”

“Oh, I’m sure you know some of them by name,” said Jay.

“How about the Ark of the Covenant,“ said Leon. “the Holy Grail…”

“Things the Nazis built,” said Evie, “Like Die Glocke. The bell.”

“Never heard of it,” Deana replied, skepticism and awe mingling in her voice.

“Supposedly an anti-gravity device that never worked—a dead-end pipe dream,” Sincline explained.

“Okay, I get it,” she said slowly. “You have lots of cool toys down here. But what does this have to do with me?”

“Simple,” Sincline said. “Our work is vital. We need allies…people in the media. People who can control the flow of information topside. People like you.”

“Each of us was hand-selected,” said Evie.

“Consider it a second job,” Leon added. “With some excellent benefits and one hell of a retirement plan.”

Jay echoed softly, “It’s a great honor.”

Deana met Sincline’s gaze steadily. “And if I refuse?”

Sincline’s eyes locked with hers. “Then you stay down here, and the world remains ignorant.”

Deana looked off, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable and fearing for her own mortality.

“It’s your choice, of course.” Sincline said.

“I’m disappointed!” Deana joked, attempting to ease the mounting tension. “I though there would be lots of buried treasure down here!”

Leon’s smile widened, and Sincline’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, it’s treasure you want?” he mused.

***

Sincline led Deana down a corridor until they reached a massive vault door, a monolith of reinforced steel and hidden power. He pressed his hand to a scanner, and leaned down to let the machine scan his eyes.

With a deep, echoing clank followed by the groan of gears, the door slid open. Inside, the vault was huge—the interior stretching on and on. Deana could only guess, but it seemed at least the length of a football field. But the space was narrow, maybe a hundred feet across, giving the vault the feeling of a wide hallway.

Deana’s breath caught at the sight: piles of gold bars, ornate jewelry in display cases and antique tea sets, flags from long-forgotten regimes.

Swastikas were everywhere. Mannequins were clad in various SS uniforms. Nazi weapon prototypes were stacked and dorted into groups by type. Long glass cases displayed swastika-embellished objects of every kind, and strange, organic-looking artifacts were arranged with a precision that spoke of both obsession and expertise. Deana couldn’t believe her eyes. The scale of it all was unbelievable. It was truly a macabre gallery of relics.

Sincline’s voice resonated with pride. “Behold—the death’s head rings from Wewelsburg Castle.”

“The what rings?”

“In 1938, Himmler ordered every fallen SS-man’s ring be returned to the castle,” Said Sincline. “It was supposed to be a symbol of eternal membership. Historians believe they were lost to time. But we have them all here. Eleven and a half thousand of them.”

“That’s a lot of rings,” said Deana. Her brief smile faded quickly, as she thought that so many highly-trained men had sworn absolute fealty to a madman.

Sincline led Deana on.

“This is the most valuable treasure in the vault,” he said.

This?” said Deana. “It’s just some old metal boxes.” There were three olive-drab cases, each with a single, faded black eagle. In its talons, a circular wreath. And within that, a swastika.

“True,” said Sincline. But inside is something very valuable. Let me tell you a story…”

Deana sighed. “If you must.” She liked history, just not this history.

“In April, 1945, at the end of WWII, an aircraft crashed south of Dresden near Börnersdorf. Only one person survived. An SS Wehrmacht unit secured the crash site and retrieved three crates of sensitive material. The orders came from Hitler himself. The crates were stored in a nearby farmhouse, until they could be transported to Berchtesgaden, a town in the Bavarian Alps. From there, they are taken to Alpenhof, a hotel in Hintersee.

“Ok, but what…”

“I’m getting to that,” said Sincline.

“The Hintersee area became the final command post of the Berchtesgaden/Obersalzberg Nazi leadership. The crates were guarded until word of Hitler’s death arrived in early May of 1945. The Nazi commanders escaped into Austria. They left the crates behind, abandoned.”

“That’s interesting,” said Deana. “But how did they get here?”

“Well…it’s a long story, but I’ll give you a hint. It involves a special commando unit called Task Force Kestrel.”

“Kestrel?” Deana laughed.

“Yes. They packed the crates out by hand, through the Bavarian alps to Austria.”

“The contents, huh?” said Deana. “Ok, I’ll bite. what’s inside? It must be very valuable.”

“Some people think so,” said Sincline. “I read some of it. It’s a lot of nonsense.”

“Read? Wait a minute. Are these… the Hitler Diaries?”

Sincline nodded, his smile almost imperceptible. “The day-to-day musings of a dictator. Both tedious and boring.”

“I thought the diaries were a hoax,” said Deana. “I saw a documentary about it in the 1980s.”

“The hoax was real,” said Sincline. “Part of an operation we ran to muddy the waters, hide the trail, discourage people from looking for the real documents. It was quite effective!”

Deana: “Well you had me convinced.”

“We have them all scanned and cataloged, of course,” said Sincline. “You can read them sometime, if you’re interested. You’d uh…have to agree to work with us, of course.”

Deana raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“But here is, by far, the least valuable part of the collection.” Sincline indicated a mannequin bust which was off by itself, against the far wall of the vault.

“Least valuable?”

“Yes,” said Sincline. “But it’s my favorite.”

The bust was mounted at head-height, so observers had a straight-on view of its face. The figure was limbless—just a head and torso which had been mounted on an ornate wooden display stand. It was dressed in a black SS uniform, the silver medals still gleaming.

The figure seemed despondent. Its head was bowed, eyes glassy and unfocused, looking off into the distance. And it was…drooling.

“Ugh,” said Deana. “It’s really creepy and realistic. Is it wax?” She stepped closer, her pulse slowing, her skin crawling with cold horror.

“Oh, he’s quite real,” said Sincline.

Without warning, the mannequin’s head lifted.

Deana jumped back. “My God!” Recognition and horror collided in her mind. “Hold on. I know that face…”

“Oh please. Miss! Help me!” Said the man in a thick German accent. The voice was weak, and sick sounding, like his lungs were full of phlegm. “I’m being held here against my will by these…mad men! Please, get me out of here!”

“Deana,” said Sincline, “let me introduce you to Joseph Mengele—The Angel of Death”.

“No. It can’t be. How—” Deana began, voice trembling.

“The technology is sophisticated. I can explain later.”

Deana’s mind reeled. “But his bones were verified by forensic experts in the mid-1980s!”

Sincline smiled thinly. “We grew those bones using his own DNA—buried them south of São Paulo. A confirmation that our technology works, and more importantly, a safeguard ensuring no one ever comes looking for this son-of-a-bitch.”

“Amazing…and horrible,” Deana murmured.

Sincline’s tone hardened. “Horrible indeed—a physician, once trusted, who performed unspeakable acts at Auschwitz. He even selected victims for the gas chambers. Didn’t you, you piece of shit?”

Mengele’s face reddened. He spluttered in a mix of fury and loathing, curses filling the air in guttural German. He stopped only long enough to cough up a voluminous gout of greenish bile, then continued his tirade.

Sincline’s hand shot out, delivering a resounding slap that silenced the old Nazi.

Terrified and disgusted, Deana could only watch as Sincline grabbed her arm and led her away.

The vault door closed behind them, abruptly cutting off the distant cacophony of shouts and curses.

***

Back on a balcony overlooking the sprawling underground city, Deana stood silently with Sincline. The artificial sun cast a comforting glow over the skyline, a stark contrast to the darkness of the secrets below.

Sincline’s voice was soft, almost gentle. “So. What do you think?”

Deana stared out at the engineered horizon, her thoughts a tangled mix of disbelief, horror, and reluctant awe. For a long, silent moment, she could only watch—unsure if she was ready to embrace this new, dangerous world or forever retreat into the shadows of what she once knew.