Nick’s earlier estimate had been accurate.
The bunker at the top of West Tower was spacious enough to be converted into a comfortable two-bedroom apartment with only a few interior walls.
A fireplace stood against one side of the room, with a compact kitchen built into the corner beside it.
Pots, pans, utensils, and old appliances filled the area, though a thick layer of dust covered most of them.
Considering J.D.
was British, Nick was not particularly surprised that the kitchen appeared rarely used.
A rough wooden cutting board had been secured to a welded steel frame, creating a crude preparation counter.
Several undersized carrots and a bundle of fresh parsley rested on top.
J.D.
chopped the vegetables with a tactical knife while continuing his explanation.
“In summary, forget about East Tower,” he said.
“You have your responsibilities, and whoever is stationed across the gorge has theirs.” The knife struck the board in a steady rhythm.
“I noticed activity over there this morning, so their annual rotation is probably happening today as well.” J.D.
offered nothing more about the eastern guardian.
Instead, he began explaining Nick’s duties for the coming year.
Every day, Nick would patrol the western rim of the gorge and inspect the automatic Phalanx gun turrets positioned roughly every six hundred meters.
He had to check their sensors, mechanical systems, barrels, and ammunition feeds, then replace any worn or damaged components before they failed.
That was the most physically demanding part of the assignment.
There were twelve automated turrets along the western side, and no functioning vehicle remained at the station.
Ammunition boxes, replacement barrels, tools, and spare parts had to be transported using a handmade cart.
Nick would also be responsible for maintaining the containment fence, replacing suspended mines, repairing damaged guardrails, and checking the large cloaking antennas that J.D.
called the big ears.
Those devices prevented satellites, aircraft, civilian mapping systems, and most communication networks from detecting the gorge.
Once every thirty days, Nick had to make a shortwave radio report and confirm that the containment systems remained operational.
Aside from those scheduled responsibilities, he could spend his free time however he pleased.
Nick finally understood the purpose of the strange training program.
“They didn’t hire a sniper,” he said.
“They hired a maintenance engineer who happens to know how to shoot.” “I appreciate your ability to understand complex situations quickly.” J.D.
looked genuinely pleased that he would not need to explain further.
He moved the cooked steak onto two plates, then added the carrots and parsley he had sautéed in the remaining butter.
After collecting two forks and glasses, he led Nick toward the observation terrace facing the gorge.
The entire upper section of West Tower was built from reinforced concrete more than ten feet thick.
It looked capable of surviving a direct strike from a large conventional bomb.
Beneath the heavy roof, the terrace extended several yards beyond the main bunker.
Two rotating weapon mounts stood on opposite sides, each fitted with an M2HB heavy machine gun.
Crates of .50 BMG ammunition were stacked nearby.
At first glance, the weapons appeared positioned for antiaircraft defense or a possible exchange of fire with East Tower.
Their design told a different story.
J.D.
placed the plates on a small table and noticed Nick studying the guns.
He struck a control on the wall, causing both mounts to rise from their resting positions with a mechanical whine.
Nick stepped onto one of the control platforms and tested its movement.
The weapon could barely elevate fifteen degrees, but it could depress far enough to fire almost directly down the cliff.
These machine guns were not intended to engage aircraft or the guardian across the gorge.
They existed to shoot anything attempting to climb out from below.
Nick stepped away from the controls.
“What’s down there?” he asked.
“Demons?” He intended the question as a joke, but J.D.
did not laugh.
The British Marine gestured toward the table.
“Sit down.
This requires some explanation.” Nick took the chair facing the fog-filled gorge and began cutting into the steak.
“You can tell this place is old,” J.D.
continued.
“The towers were constructed near the end of World War II and expanded during the early years of the Cold War.” He pointed toward two faded flags hanging on the wall behind them, one American and the other British.
“What I’m about to tell you is classified beyond anything contained in the documents you signed.” Nick raised an eyebrow but continued eating.
“During the late 1940s, a secret coalition was formed between selected organizations from the East and West.
Its purpose was to keep this place hidden and prevent whatever is inside from escaping.” “Which governments were involved?” “No one knows the complete list.” J.D.
cut into his steak.
“Every year, a representative from one of the western nations patrols this rim.
Someone chosen by the eastern coalition guards the opposite side.” Nick glanced toward East Tower.
“So world leaders have secretly maintained this arrangement for more than seventy years?” “No.” J.D.
smiled humorlessly.
“There have been nine Soviet or Russian heads of state and thirteen American presidents since this operation began.
According to the information passed down to us, none of them knew the gorge existed.” Nick paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.
The project had apparently survived outside ordinary governments, presidential administrations, and public military command structures.
Whoever controlled it possessed the resources to recruit elite soldiers, maintain advanced weapons, and conceal an entire region without informing national leaders.
That explained Bartholomew’s authority.
It also made her considerably more dangerous.
The absurd story suddenly matched the Magic Movie Ticket’s mission.
If the ticket expected Nick to save the world, the threat was almost certainly connected to the gorge beneath him.
He placed a piece of steak in his mouth and chewed.
The meat was so dry that his jaw slowed.
Out of politeness, Nick forced himself to swallow.
He should never have trusted a Royal Marine who used a tactical knife as a kitchen utensil.
“What exactly are we containing?” he asked.
J.D.’s expression became difficult to read.
Rather than answering, he removed a small timed explosive from a pouch.
He adjusted the delay, rose from the table, and tossed it over the edge.
J.D.
placed one finger against his lips.
Nick waited.
Ten seconds later, a muffled explosion echoed from somewhere beneath the fog.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the gorge screamed.
Countless roars erupted from below, blending into a single wave of rage.
Some sounded almost human, while others resembled animals being torn apart.
The cries rose and fell across the hidden depths until the entire chasm seemed alive.
The sound belonged in an American horror movie.
Night had settled over the mountains, and the fog below appeared darker than before.
Nick knew he would see nothing through it, yet he still left his chair and approached the edge.
The unseen creatures continued howling for several minutes.
When the noise finally weakened, Nick turned back toward J.D.
The British soldier remained seated with a faint, uneasy smile.
“We call them the Hollow Men,” J.D.
said.
“No one knows exactly what they are.” “Why that name?” “I couldn’t tell you.” Nick glanced toward an old photograph hanging on the wall.
The picture showed a stern officer wearing a British uniform from the 1940s.
A tarnished metal plate beneath the frame identified him.
Captain Bradford Shaw First Guardian of West Tower 1947 “According to the stories passed down by previous guardians, Shaw named them,” J.D.
explained.
“The title came from a poem by T.
S.
Eliot, though I’ve never read it.” Nick knew the reference.
The Hollow Men described empty figures trapped between existence and death.
Considering the sounds rising from the gorge, the name felt disturbingly appropriate.
J.D.
continued.
“In the late 1940s, they tried to clear the gorge.
Three entire battalions were sent down there.” “How many soldiers?” “Twenty-four hundred.” Nick’s expression tightened.
“They entered on horseback with enough weapons and supplies to conduct a full operation.
Not one soldier returned.” “Not even a survivor?” “Nothing.” J.D.
stared into the fog.
“After that, the coalition abandoned every attempt to retake the gorge.
Their strategy changed from extermination to containment.” Nick looked at the automated weapons, suspended mines, and massive concrete tower surrounding them.
Everything made sense now.
The guardians were not protecting the gorge from trespassers.
They were maintaining a prison.
“How do you know any of this is true?” Nick asked.
“The same way I learned everything else.” J.D.
tapped the side of his head.
“My predecessor told me.
His predecessor told him, and someone else passed the story down before that.” “A seventy-year game of telephone.” “Exactly.” Details could have been distorted, exaggerated, or forgotten over the decades.
The only undeniable facts were the weapons surrounding the gorge and the inhuman voices still fading beneath the fog.
Nick returned to his chair.
“Why not destroy the entire place?” he asked.
“Firebomb it, collapse the walls, or bury everything under the mountains?” J.D.
shrugged.
“Maybe someone tried.
Perhaps they’re afraid that damaging the gorge would release whatever is trapped inside.” He took a drink before continuing.
“My personal theory is simpler.” “What is it?” J.D.
looked down into the darkness.
“The gorge is the entrance to hell, and we’re standing guard at the gate.” Nick considered the statement.
“Like Cerberus?” “The three-headed hound guarding the entrance to Hades,” J.D.
agreed.
“That’s us.” Nick glanced at the heavy machine guns and automated defenses.
Being compared to an underworld watchdog was not especially flattering, but it was probably accurate.
For the next year, his task was to patrol this forgotten mountain, repair aging machinery, and prevent an army of unknown creatures from reaching the surface.
The Magic Movie Ticket had ordered him to save the world.
Nick now understood where that mission would begin.