Then the real year began.
“What idiot built this?” Viktor muttered, plugging it in.
Viktor froze. Y2K was six months ago. Nothing happened. Planes didn’t fall. Power stayed on. Or so they told everyone.
A map appeared. Not of Russia as he knew it, but of a parallel grid—underground bunkers, dead military relays, and one blinking red dot in the center of what used to be Pripyat.