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Near the derelict farmhouse, a crumbling barn leans under sagging beams, its shadowed interior concealing a rusted hatch. Below lies a labyrinth of cold concrete chambers—a Cold War-era bunker now littered with 45 warped, otherworldly artifacts resembling fossilized starlight. These jagged fragments glow faintly in the darkness, wedged between collapsed shelving, half-buried in soil, dangling from exposed rebar. Their placement defies logic: one wedged behind a ruptured generator, another balanced atop a skeleton’s outstretched hand. Touch nothing, and the exit remains sealed stone. Collect all 45, and the air itself ripples—a swirling vortex tearing open where the bunker’s command desk once stood. But hurry: the artifacts pulse brighter as time thins, and the walls…*breathe*. One missed shard means eternity spent mapping this endless concrete throat.
