"An archeologist kneels on the damp, cracked floor of an abandoned World War II bunker, their gloved hands carefully holding a fragile, yellowed document. The bunker is shrouded in darkness, with only the dim glow of a portable lantern casting a pale circle of light that flickers against the concrete walls. Rusted pipes run along the ceiling, dripping water onto the floor, where pools of stagnant liquid reflect the faint illumination. The air is heavy with the scent of mildew, rust, and damp earth, making the confined space feel even more oppressive. The archeologist, dressed in a weathered jacket and boots, is surrounded by scattered remnants of the past--rusting ammunition boxes, torn propaganda posters clinging to the walls, and broken furniture overturned in hasty abandonment. On a decayed wooden table nearby, a collection of artifacts lies neatly arranged: a cracked leather journal, a broken gas mask, and a faded map marked with cryptic annotations. The document in the archeologist’s hands is delicate, its ink smudged but still legible, with faint Nazi insignia barely visible on its corner. The bunker’s walls are stained with streaks of moisture, and patches of black mold creep into the corners, adding to the sense of decay. Behind the archeologist, a doorway leads deeper into the bunker’s shadowy depths, the faint sound of dripping water echoing ominously from within. The air grows colder the longer they stay, as though the bunker itself is alive with the weight of its forgotten history. The archeologist’s focused expression is illuminated by the lantern, their breath visible in the chilled air. The faint scratching of their pencil as they take notes in a leather-bound notebook is the only sound, amplifying the eerie silence around them. The bunker feels [...]