March 3rd, 2028

6:30 PM

“Come on, people!” Fran Smith muttered as she inched her car forward. “This isn’t Texas. We know how to handle a little snowfall.”

But this wasn’t just a snowfall. This was a blizzard.

The kind that swallowed roads, blurred headlights, and turned every breath into a freezing cloud.

Fran gripped the steering wheel harder, her gloves stiff with cold despite the heat blasting in the car. Visibility was nearly zero, and the wind howled through the trees like some unseen force warning her to turn back. But there was no turning back—not with Venture’s pathetic excuse for a police force consisting only of her.

She rounded the bend—then hit the brakes.

Her tires slid. The back end fishtailed, bouncing into the snowbank with a muffled thud.

Something lay in the road.

The tunnel smelled of diesel and damp stone, a petroleum tang that clung to Joey’s throat. Headlamps carved narrow moons of light into the dark, catching the sweat on his brow and the jagged edges of rock. He kept his breath steady, matching it to the soft thud of Derrick’s boots ahead. They were a rhythm Joey had learned to trust; Derrick’s silence said more than words ever could.