3. Chapter 3 - Matt
The mission briefing continued for another forty-three minutes, and Matt counted every single one because it kept his attention away from the images still glowing across the screen behind Commander Vale.
Ancient corridors carved from stone descended into collapsed catacombs and darkness deep enough to swallow the light around it, while nearly half the operational file remained blacked out even for Valker personnel.
Whatever this place truly was, the Council had buried the details hard enough that Matt only needed one look at the redactions to understand the important part. People died in places like this.
Commander Vale remained standing near the display with one hand resting behind her back while rotating mission data cast shifting light across the conference room walls.
Ancient floor plans, excavation reports, and satellite imagery cycled silently beside her while she addressed the room with the same controlled calm she seemed to bring to everything.
“Three weeks ago,” she said, “a Council archaeological team disappeared beneath an abandoned monastery in northern Romania.”
Baptiste leaned back farther in his chair. “Archaeologists.”
The word carried the exact kind of skepticism soldiers usually reserved for bad lieutenant ideas, though Vale ignored Baptiste completely while ancient maps and excavation reports continued shifting across the display behind her.
“The monastery predates most surviving historical records in the region,” she explained calmly.
“Human documentation places it sometime in the late twelfth century, but Council archives suggest the structure itself is considerably older.”
Matt tipped his head. “Older how?”
Soren answered this time. “Older enough that we stopped being certain humans built all of it.”
Matt sat with that information for half a second before deciding it was incredibly concerning. He folded his arms across his chest. “You people really know how to sell a work environment.”
Vale continued like nobody had spoken. “The Council excavation team entered the lower catacombs eleven days ago after uncovering sealed passageways beneath the monastery crypts. Contact was lost approximately four hours later.”
“No distress call?”
“None.”
Matt glanced toward the screen again. “And now you’re sending in supernatural Delta Force.”
“Essentially.”
“That is somehow less comforting than if you’d denied it.”
Keene remained perfectly still against the far wall while Matt found himself increasingly convinced the man conserved movement out of personal philosophy.
Vale touched the display again, and several new images spread across the screens showing narrow stone corridors, collapsed support beams, and ancient religious murals painted in something dark enough that Matt instantly stopped wanting to know whether it was actually paint.
Then another image appeared, and the room seemed to fall subtly quieter around it.
Deep claw marks had been gouged through solid stone with enough force to fracture the surrounding rock, and Matt’s instincts reacted before thought could catch up. Predator.
“Three recovery teams have already entered the lower structure,” Vale said calmly. “None remained operational longer than six hours.”
Matt stared at the screen. “Operational is an interesting word choice.”
Vale met his gaze evenly. “Intentional.”
“Meaning?”
Baptiste answered before she could. “Meaning some of them came back wrong.”
Silence settled across the conference room while something instinctive beneath Matt’s skin tightened and sharpened in response to the claw marks on the screen.
The feeling was not exactly fear. It felt disturbingly familiar, because predators understood danger long before words ever tried to explain it. “What kind of wrong?” he asked.
Soren folded his hands together on the table. “Disorientation. Memory degradation. Sudden aggression. Two operatives developed severe territorial behavior despite no prior pack instability.”
Matt’s jaw tightened. “That sounds magical.”
“It is magical,” Soren replied.
“That is somehow worse.”
Vale changed the display again, revealing a rough map of the monastery grounds spread across multiple levels beneath the structure.
Most of the deeper sections remained unfinished or collapsed, though Matt had the uneasy feeling the difference between those two possibilities mattered more than anyone in the room was saying aloud.
“The monastery sits above intersecting ley fractures,” Soren explained.
“Something beneath the structure appears to amplify territorial and predatory instincts while simultaneously destabilizing higher cognitive regulation. The site does not create instinct, it strips away everything layered over it.”
Matt blinked once. “You saying the place drives shifters feral?”
“No,” Soren said carefully. “I am saying it removes the barriers civilized minds build around instinct.”
Somehow that answer managed to sound far worse than simply saying the place was magical.
Matt leaned forward “And Valker decided the best response was sending the bitten hyena with documented impulse control issues down there because…?”
“Because you survived your transition without pack stabilization,” Vale answered instantly.
“Pack-trained operatives rely on bonds, hierarchy, and established control structures,” Soren said. “The site appears to exploit those structures. You adapted without them.”
Matt went still as the implication behind their answers settled heavily across the room. He felt the weight behind it, enough to make the space around him seem suddenly smaller. “You think that matters.”
“We know it matters.”
Matt glanced toward Keene, then back toward Vale. “So this whole thing is a test.”
“No,” Vale said calmly. “The mission is real. The danger is real. People are missing.” Her gaze held steady on his. “But your adaptability may increase operational survival.”
The answer sounded dangerously close to you are expendable in a useful direction, and Matt recognized the phrasing at once because the military had perfected the art of dressing up sacrifice as professionalism.
Baptiste watched him from across the room, not intrusive so much as observant, like he was waiting to see whether Matt was going to bolt or bite somebody.
At the moment, both options felt equally reasonable.
“You keep saying missing,” Matt said finally. “Not dead.”
Vale nodded once. “We recovered partial audio from one operative approximately nineteen hours ago.”
Matt leaned forward. “Partial?”
Keene finally pushed away from the wall. “That operative was no longer alone when the transmission came through.”
Something cold slid down Matt’s spine as Vale activated another file and static crackled softly through hidden speakers before distorted breathing filled the conference room.
Footsteps followed a second later, fast and uneven against stone corridors, while someone whispered something in Romanian that Matt could not understand.
Then another voice answered from deeper in the tunnel.
Low. Animal. Wrong enough that the fur along the back of Matt’s neck reflexively tried to rise.
The screaming came next.
The audio cut out abruptly afterward, and silence lingered across the room while Matt stared at the frozen display and felt the hyena within pacing hard enough to make his pulse uneven.
Every instinct he had recognized the same thing without hesitation: predator, trapped and injured and dangerously alone.
“Jesus Christ,” Matt muttered softly.
“No,” Baptiste said. “Historically speaking, probably not.”
Matt looked at him, but Baptiste’s expression stayed perfectly serious, and somehow that made the room feel worse instead of lighter.
Vale didn't acknowledge the interruption. “Satellite imaging suggests portions of the monastery continue descending well below mapped excavation zones. Structural scans indicate artificial hollow spaces extending nearly two hundred meters.”
Matt looked back toward the screen. “That is not a monastery anymore.”
“No,” Soren agreed softly. “It is something buried beneath one.”
Matt stared at the dark tunnels winding beneath the monastery on the display.
Something about the place looked wrong even through photographs and satellite scans, ancient in a way that seemed less connected to history and more connected to hunger.
The deeper sections looked patient, as though they had been waiting for someone to return all along. Worse, despite the unease tightening through him, some instinct he did not fully understand kept urging him toward the darkness rather than away from it.
Vale finally broke the silence. “We deploy tomorrow morning.”
***
Matt slept badly, though not because he was nervous.
That would have been easier to explain. The real problem was the monastery.
Once the briefing ended and the adrenaline finally faded enough for exhaustion to settle in, his brain had apparently decided that replaying fragments of the mission file all night qualified as productive behavior.
Ancient tunnels. Collapsed catacombs. Something breathing in the dark.
By three in the morning, Matt gave up on sleep entirely and rolled out of bed inside the small apartment Valker had assigned him three levels beneath operations.
Apartment was probably being generous. The room looked like somebody had tried to make a military barracks less depressing by adding softer lighting and an expensive coffee maker, though the concrete walls, minimal furniture, and complete lack of windows still left the place carrying the quiet oppressive weight of being underground.