The downpour claws at the reinforced glass of the transport van, blurring the perimeter searchlights into smears of sickly yellow. Outside, there are no road signs, no mile markers, and no stars—only the suffocating canopy of an old-growth forest swallowing the midnight sky.The engine dies, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic hum of subterranean ventilation.A pneumatic hiss echoes as the rear doors seal open, inviting the damp chill of the night inside. Heavy boots crunch on wet gravel. Two guards, their faces obscured by matte-black tactical visors, reach into the cabin to haul the prisoner forward. Heavy power-dampening cuffs clank rhythmically against each other, the internal hum of the tech vibrating against flesh with a dull, nauseating frequency.Ahead, the earth itself seems to have cracked open. A massive concrete ramp slopes downward into the gut of a cliffside, lit by the harsh, flickering buzz of industrial fluorescents. This is the Threshold. To the civilian world, this coordinate does not exist. To the public, the anomalous figured huddled between the guards is simply missing. "Watch your step," a guard grunts, his voice distorted through a comm-filter.The prisoner stumbles slightly, boots skidding on the slick concrete as they are marched down into the belly of the facility. The heavy steel blast doors groan shut behind them, cutting off the sound of the rain, sealing away the sky, and locking the world's most dangerous secrets beneath miles of solid rock. "welcome to Elmira, freak."