The barn stood at the edge of the field, hunched beneath the rising sun.
Its roof sagged, rusty hinges groaning with each sway.
From the outside, it looked like nothing more than an abandoned relic.

I’d driven past that spot dozens of times on patrol, never stopping.
But today was different.

A sharp, insistent barking cut through the silence.
Steady. Relentless.

“Max… what did you see?” I asked, glancing at my German Shepherd.

His body was rigid. Tail stiff. Ears forward.
Not fear—demand.
A warning.

He refused to move until I opened the barn.
Scratching his paw at the old door, he was certain something was inside.

The air smelled of rust and hay. Quiet. Empty.
Maybe strays lived there—but Max knew better.
His fur bristled. His body coiled tight.

Then he began to dig beneath the crooked boards.
Claw after claw, dirt scattered.
I knelt down. The planks looked too fresh, as if someone had replaced them recently.

I tapped.

Hollow.

A chill rippled down my spine.
I pressed closer, peering between the cracks—
And what I saw made my breath catch.

I grabbed my radio.

— “Central, Block 15… we need reinforcements. Immediately.”

Max dug harder, then froze. His paw struck something strange.
At first, I thought it was trash or old crates… but no.
Beneath the floor were neat rows of small glass-like structures.

Mini greenhouses.

“What the hell…” I muttered, leaning closer.

Max growled deep in his throat.
It wasn’t just an empty barn.
Someone had hidden a full-scale cultivation site beneath it.

Lights. Wires. Containers of plants.
Everything prepared for growing what never should’ve been grown.

My heart pounded.
All this time, right under our noses.

I pressed the radio again.

“Central, Block 15… send backup. Now.”