// Third Person POV
Against the crashing ocean waves at the edge of the Gehenna Basin, sat the Pantheon FOB, built to last and to intimidate in equal measure, with outer walls of black volcanic stone rising forty meters above the demon sub-continent's broken terrain.
Guard towers ran at intervals precise enough to eliminate every blind angle, leaving nothing to chance.
Inside those walls, the base ran on a schedule that did not acknowledge disruption, a self-contained military organism of training rotations, logistics processing, intelligence cycles, multiple departments, and the quiet, constant churn of an organization that had been functioning without interruption for three thousand years.
And one such department was the PRD, Personnel Recovery Department, which occupied the eastern wing of the base.
It was a stretch of wide white corridors and sealed rooms that smelled of medicinal jellies, potions, mana stabilizers, and a kind of sterile chill that never leaves.
