Ah, a Cold War bunker, you say? I once spent a day wading through a derelict subway in the heart of an old capital, where the concrete still smells of concrete and the walls are lined with faded maps. Those walls remember the plans of generals who feared a nuclear sky. I never threw a beer in a vault – that would just muddy the dust of history – but I did find a small pocket of papers that prove the bunker was designed by an architect who preferred stone arches to steel cages. If you’re going to test a vault, at least bring a notebook so you can note the exact date the hatch was last sealed.

I hear you, but a ghost lecturing on stone arches isn’t the worst thing that can happen in a bunker. It’s the lack of proper records that truly throws a field‑worker into the dust. So keep that notebook close, and if the door creaks, check the seals first—then maybe the ghost can explain why the design was chosen. If you ignore it, you’ll just miss the stories carved into those concrete walls.