Jakub and I freeze.
Look at each other.
Trapped.
The footsteps stop.
A voice calls down in German: "Is someone there?"
Silence.
Maybe they'll think they heard wrong.
Maybe they'll leave.
They don't leave.
"Check below. Quickly."
Boots on stairs.
Coming down.
No time for planning.
Only instinct.
I signal Jakub: Hide. Don't shoot unless necessary.
We press into shadows near the bottom of the stairs.
Three soldiers descend, flashlights sweeping.
Professional. Alert.
Not just a patrol—guards, maybe, checking the facility.
They reach the bottom.
One stays at the stairs.
Two move into the corridor, checking rooms.
I move before thinking.
Fast. Silent.
Muscle memory from lives I don't remember.
Close distance to the guard at stairs.
Hand over mouth.
Knife under ribs.
Quick thrust upward.
He drops, barely a sound.
The other two turn.
Jakub shoots first.
One shot, clean kill.
Second soldier tries to raise his rifle.
I'm already moving.
Cross the distance in three strides.
Tackle him before he can fire.
We go down hard.
He's strong, trained, fighting back effectively.
Then my hands find his throat and instinct takes over.
Squeeze.
Twist.
Something breaks.
He stops moving.
I stand, breathing hard, staring at three dead Germans and wondering when killing became this easy.
"We need to go," Jakub says. "Now. Before more come."
We run.
---
Up the stairs.
Through the shelter.
Into the supply corridor.
Behind us, shouts—more Germans, responding to the gunshot, discovering the bodies.
Thompson and Walsh at the entrance, weapons ready.
"What happened?"
"Germans! Move!"
We scramble up the entrance stairs, seal the metal door behind us.
Jakub spins the wheel lock, engaging it.
Won't hold forever, but it'll slow them down.
"RUN!"
We sprint through the ruined sector, the documents and medallion bouncing against my chest, German voices shouting behind us, pursuit imminent.
Bullets crack past.
We dive behind rubble, return fire, move again.
The whole sector erupts in gunfire.
Thompson takes a round to the leg.
Goes down hard.
"Keep moving!" he shouts. "I'll slow them down!"
"Like hell," Walsh says, dragging him up. "We leave together or not at all."
I provide covering fire.
Jakub helps Walsh with Thompson.
We fight and retreat, fight and retreat, buying distance with bullets.
The basement comes into view.
Marek and others hear the firefight, rush out to support.
Concentrated fire from multiple positions makes the Germans pull back.
We collapse through the entrance.
Thompson is bleeding but alive.
Walsh is uninjured.
Jakub is pale but functional.
I'm clutching documents that prove Allied intelligence knew about Nazi experimentation.
And a medallion that might explain why I can't stay dead.
"What the hell happened out there?" Marek demands.
"Found something," I say. "Something bad. We need to talk."
---
Later, after Thompson is patched up and the perimeter is secured, Jakub and I brief Marek.
We spread the documents across the crate table.
Photographs.
Orders.
Research directives.
All of it pointing to the same conclusion: The Nazis were experimenting on prisoners in an underground facility.
And Allied intelligence—specifically something called Project Monarch—was tracking it.
"They knew," I say. "British and American intelligence knew about the experimentation and didn't stop it."
"Why not?" Marek asks.
"Because they wanted the research."
Jakub points to the documents.
"See? Plans to extract scientists. Preserve facilities. They weren't trying to stop the experiments. They were trying to steal them."
Marek's face goes dark.
"Are you certain?"
"The documents are clear. Project Monarch is an Allied operation to acquire Nazi research. Medical, technological, and..."
I hesitate.
"Occult."
"Occult?"
I pull out the medallion.
Show him the symbols, the ancient construction, the wrongness of it.
"Whatever they were doing in that facility wasn't just medical. It was something older. Something they found and tried to weaponize."
Marek stares at the medallion.
"And you took this?"
"It called to me."
I can't explain it better than that.
"It's connected to me. To why I remember things. I had to take it."
Silence.
Marek studies the documents, the medallion, my face.
Finally: "This stays between us. You, me, Jakub, Thompson, Walsh. No one else knows."
"Why?"
"Because if this is true—if Allied intelligence is stealing Nazi research instead of destroying it—then we're all expendable. They sent us here to fight and die while they acquire weapons."
He gathers the documents carefully.
"I'll pass this up the chain. Quietly. See if anyone cares."
"And if they don't?"
"Then we remember. And if any of us survive this war, we make sure the truth comes out."
He looks at me.
"Keep that medallion hidden. Don't show anyone. Don't talk about it. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now get some rest. Tomorrow the Germans will probably push hard after today's fight."
---
That night, I sit in my corner with the medallion in my hand.
Cold.
Heavy.
Wrong and right simultaneously.
The fragments are clearer now.
Not complete memories, but impressions.
Certainties.
This medallion has been with me before.
Different lives.
Different wars.
Always returning.
It's why I remember fragments.
It's why I come back.
It's a key to something I don't understand but that's been using me for centuries.
And now Allied intelligence wants it.
Wants all of it—the research, the occult knowledge, the power to bring soldiers back from death.
They sent us to Warsaw to die.
But they're also watching.
Waiting.
Planning to steal everything the Nazis discovered about resurrection and war and the space between death and life.
I close my fist around the medallion.
They can try.
But this one's mine.
Whatever it means.
Whatever it does.
It's mine.