The footage begins with a dashcam view from a TAPV as it patrols a snowy road winding through a dense pine forest. The sky is clear and cloudless, with the date on the HUD reading 13/1/28 at 9:28 PM. Voices in the background exchange casual banter about the patrol. As they drive, they pass a sign reading "IMPASSE" and another in French: "L'intrusion est un crime. Les personnes non autorisées trouvées sur cette propriété seront passibles d'arrestation et de poursuites." The driver doesn't seem to notice.
"If I keep forgetting to turn this thing on, I'm going to get my ass chewed out," a man says with a nervous chuckle.
"Everything seems clear so far," the driver mutters, his grip tightening on the wheel.
"Too clear… It's eerie as hell out here," a woman remarks. "Not a single animal in sight, except that weird concrete statue we passed. What the hell was that?"
Without warning, a blinding snowstorm erupts out of nowhere. Visibility plummets, and the driver's calm demeanor shatters.
"Shit! Where the hell did this come from?" the driver shouts, his voice cracking as he fights to keep the vehicle on the road.
The woman leans forward, panic rising in her tone. "This wasn't in the forecast! It's like it just… appeared out of nowhere!"
The date and time in the HUD start glitching, flickering erratically. The driver, now breathing heavily, slams his foot on the gas, trying to outrun the storm.
"I've got to find shelter—fast!" he yells. "We're not going to make it if this gets any worse!"
Minutes stretch into what feels like hours as they struggle through the blizzard. Then, through the swirling snow, they spot a bunker and veer off the road, pulling inside just in time.
As they huddle in the dimly lit shelter, the woman's voice trembles. "This storm… it's not natural. It hit out of nowhere and buried us."
The driver nods, his hands shaking as he grips the dashcam and pulls it off the dashboard. "It's like the weather just flipped a switch on us… Let's get the dashcam and secure the bunker. We need to figure out what's going on before we're completely screwed."
The driver stuffs the dashcam into his pocket, the sound muffling as they scramble to secure the bunker. The earlier banter is gone, replaced by the urgency of survival.
The footage cuts to the camera now placed on a table inside the bunker. The brown-haired man frantically twists the dial of a radio, but all he gets is static.
"Shit… The storm's screwing with the signals," he mutters, his voice edged with frustration. "Maybe civilian radio…"
He spins the dial, and a staticky, distorted tune crackles through. It's strange, almost like Japanese pop, but he can't place it. (The song is "Calamari Inkantation," though he doesn't recognize it, being from human times in 2028.)
"Come on, give me something…" he pleads, scanning further. He stops on another station, this one barely audible, filled with eerie, gurgling sounds—almost like drowning voices trying to speak.
A wave of cold fear washes over him, and he quickly flips the dial. Every other frequency is dead, except for the strange pop song.
"Damn it… this place just keeps getting worse," he mutters, his voice shaky with dread.
Suddenly, he notices the camera is still recording and fumbles to turn it off.