[BLACK OPS SITE 3 - FANMADE BACKSTORY] The wind howls like a wounded animal outside, tearing through the dense forests of the Aleutian Islands. Snow swirls in erratic patterns, a restless dance over the peaks of the mountains. Somewhere in this desolate wilderness lies Black Ops Site 3, a classified outpost hidden beneath the canopy of towering evergreens. The facility, extensive but extremely camouflaged bunker, is carved into the rocky base of a mountain, hidden by the tree canopies that grow around it. It's the kind of place designed to be forgotten, its existence known only to a select few within the Strategic Homeland Division (SHD). You are Cipher, a lone operative dispatched here for a critical mission. As part of the Division, your duty is to guard a high-value server housed deep within the facility. This server node, protected by layers of encryption and cutting-edge security, is one of the few remaining lifelines for ISAC systems-the AI backbone that keeps Division operations functioning across the Alaskan region. Without it, SHD's ability to coordinate and deploy in real time would crumble. The isolation is suffocating, even for someone like you, trained to work alone. Days blur together in monotonous routine: checking system logs, running diagnostics, and patrolling the perimeter. The facility itself is cold and sterile, its corridors illuminated by the faint glow of emergency lights. The server room hums steadily, its sound both a comfort and a reminder of the mission’s importance. But the forest outside feels alive in ways that unsettle you-a vast, untamed expanse cloaked in shadows, where the unknown lurks just beyond the trees. It’s the third week of your assignment when the first anomaly occurs. A low-pitched whine disrupts the steady rhythm of the server. The noise is faint, like a whisper at the edge of hearing, but enough to put you on edge. You scan the logs, searching for signs of a malfunction, but find nothing. The system checks out perfectly. Still, a nagging feeling grips you, an instinct you’ve learned to trust over years in the field. Later that night, while monitoring the surveillance feeds, you see it: a faint glimmer of light moving through the trees. A flashlight, bobbing unevenly, like someone-or something-is navigating the dense undergrowth. You grab your comms unit and call it in. “Cipher to Central. I’ve got movement on the perimeter. Single light source. No heat signature yet.” The response comes after a pause, static crackling in your ear. “Cipher, be advised: no friendly assets are in your vicinity. Maintain vigilance and report further anomalies.” The light vanishes before reinforcements can be considered. You sweep the area with thermal imaging, but there’s no trace of anyone-or anything. The following night, the flashlight returns, closer this time, lingering at the edge of the surveillance blind spot near the ventilation shaft. You suit up, the weight of your sidearm and rifle grounding you as you step out into the frigid night. The forest is eerily quiet, the only sound your boots crunching through the snow. Every shadow feels hostile, every branch a potential threat. You make your way toward the shaft, flashlight slicing through the gloom, but find no sign of disturbance. No tracks in the snow. No heat signatures. Nothing. When you return to the bunker, your pulse still racing, you notice something new: a message scrolling across one of the server monitors in stark white text. "LEAVE." The word sends a jolt through you. This system is supposed to be isolated, impossible to breach remotely. Yet, the message stares back at you, mocking your attempts to rationalize it. You run a full diagnostic, but there’s no evidence of tampering. It’s as if the message appeared out of nowhere. The days that follow are a blur of escalating tension. The flashlight grows bolder, darting through the trees like a predator stalking its prey. Surveillance cameras glitch unpredictably, flickering between static and distorted images. Once, you catch a glimpse of a figure-tall, humanoid, but unnervingly indistinct-before the feed cuts out entirely. The message on the server changes, cycling through cryptic phrases: "YOU DON'T BELONG." "IT'S ALREADY TOO LATE." You contact Central repeatedly, but the responses grow less reassuring. First, they promise reinforcements. Then they tell you to sit tight, that the situation is under review. Eventually, they go silent altogether. On the fifth night, the perimeter alarms trip. Not a single one, but all of them at once. The sound is deafening, a cacophony of blaring warnings that seem to echo through the mountains. You rush to the control room, adrenaline pumping, only to find the server array offline. The room is plunged into darkness, save for the dim emergency lights casting eerie shadows on the walls. That’s when you hear it: footsteps, deliberate and heavy, coming from the main corridor. You draw your weapon, every nerve in your body screaming to act. But as you take aim, the lights flicker, and for a brief moment, you see it-the figure from the cameras, standing at the far end of the hall. It doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. It just watches. And then, everything goes black. When you wake, you’re back in Division regional headquarters at Anchorage, lying on a cot in the infirmary. Your head throbs, and your body feels battered, as if you’ve been dragged through hell. A senior agent sits beside you, their expression unreadable. “You’re lucky we got to you,” they say, their voice flat. “The outpost sent an automated distress signal. When our team arrived, the facility was… compromised.” You try to speak, but the memories come in fragments. The alarms. The figure. The server going offline. “What happened to the server? The mission-did I fail?” The agent hesitates, then leans in closer. “The server’s gone. Destroyed. And as for the rest… we’re still trying to piece it together. What we found in the facility doesn’t make sense.” You want to press them, to demand answers, but their expression tells you it’s no use. Whatever happened at Black Ops Site 3 is beyond their understanding-or yours. The Aleutian winds still howl in your ears, and deep down, you know one thing for certain: the forest isn’t finished with you.
Please leave a like if you'd like me to write this as an ongoing fanfiction series in Tom Clancy's: The Division universe! Listening to this music while playing all of Rick Valassi's podcasts from the first Division game is soooo immensely satisfying!
This series of Black Ops Outpost is really immersive. I love it. Keep bringing more. My favourite so far is the Black Ops Outpost. I wonder what is the prompt you are using to nail this! Awesome job.
Thanks! Yea, the atmo turned out pretty nice, and working with Dolby Atmos has been a total game-changer. Talking of prompts - funny thing - my server got hacked recently, and now there’s a channel using my images for their videos. Literally every single one of them is made of an image ripped off (and re-rendered) from my archive.
I'm serious, you need to stop this right now, because you're hitting such gold every time. New LAN party next weekend at this location. No talking, only ambient.
![BLACK OPS Sites 2 [ALONE] Dark Ambient Focus Music](http://i.ytimg.com/vi/Ebh-PxF2Nrg/mqdefault.jpg)
An introverts dream work environment. Definitely Mine.
this place is getting better and better.
I cant wait for the backstory... I actually look forward to this drops and the backstory keeps me Going!!
I need that desk! 😄 Awesome track and vid!💟
Cheers mate!
@@ambientoutpost Forgot to mention but it gives me "Ex-machina" basement vibes as well. My pleasure, bud!
You've done it again. Love this.
Back at work.....I look forward to these!
Gotta get that stalker themed backgrounds going
Excelente concepção de sala de controle.
[BLACK OPS SITE 3 - FANMADE BACKSTORY]
The wind howls like a wounded animal outside, tearing through the dense forests of the Aleutian Islands. Snow swirls in erratic patterns, a restless dance over the peaks of the mountains. Somewhere in this desolate wilderness lies Black Ops Site 3, a classified outpost hidden beneath the canopy of towering evergreens. The facility, extensive but extremely camouflaged bunker, is carved into the rocky base of a mountain, hidden by the tree canopies that grow around it. It's the kind of place designed to be forgotten, its existence known only to a select few within the Strategic Homeland Division (SHD).
You are Cipher, a lone operative dispatched here for a critical mission. As part of the Division, your duty is to guard a high-value server housed deep within the facility. This server node, protected by layers of encryption and cutting-edge security, is one of the few remaining lifelines for ISAC systems-the AI backbone that keeps Division operations functioning across the Alaskan region. Without it, SHD's ability to coordinate and deploy in real time would crumble.
The isolation is suffocating, even for someone like you, trained to work alone. Days blur together in monotonous routine: checking system logs, running diagnostics, and patrolling the perimeter. The facility itself is cold and sterile, its corridors illuminated by the faint glow of emergency lights. The server room hums steadily, its sound both a comfort and a reminder of the mission’s importance. But the forest outside feels alive in ways that unsettle you-a vast, untamed expanse cloaked in shadows, where the unknown lurks just beyond the trees.
It’s the third week of your assignment when the first anomaly occurs. A low-pitched whine disrupts the steady rhythm of the server. The noise is faint, like a whisper at the edge of hearing, but enough to put you on edge. You scan the logs, searching for signs of a malfunction, but find nothing. The system checks out perfectly. Still, a nagging feeling grips you, an instinct you’ve learned to trust over years in the field.
Later that night, while monitoring the surveillance feeds, you see it: a faint glimmer of light moving through the trees. A flashlight, bobbing unevenly, like someone-or something-is navigating the dense undergrowth. You grab your comms unit and call it in.
“Cipher to Central. I’ve got movement on the perimeter. Single light source. No heat signature yet.”
The response comes after a pause, static crackling in your ear. “Cipher, be advised: no friendly assets are in your vicinity. Maintain vigilance and report further anomalies.”
The light vanishes before reinforcements can be considered. You sweep the area with thermal imaging, but there’s no trace of anyone-or anything.
The following night, the flashlight returns, closer this time, lingering at the edge of the surveillance blind spot near the ventilation shaft. You suit up, the weight of your sidearm and rifle grounding you as you step out into the frigid night. The forest is eerily quiet, the only sound your boots crunching through the snow. Every shadow feels hostile, every branch a potential threat. You make your way toward the shaft, flashlight slicing through the gloom, but find no sign of disturbance. No tracks in the snow. No heat signatures. Nothing.
When you return to the bunker, your pulse still racing, you notice something new: a message scrolling across one of the server monitors in stark white text.
"LEAVE."
The word sends a jolt through you. This system is supposed to be isolated, impossible to breach remotely. Yet, the message stares back at you, mocking your attempts to rationalize it. You run a full diagnostic, but there’s no evidence of tampering. It’s as if the message appeared out of nowhere.
The days that follow are a blur of escalating tension. The flashlight grows bolder, darting through the trees like a predator stalking its prey. Surveillance cameras glitch unpredictably, flickering between static and distorted images. Once, you catch a glimpse of a figure-tall, humanoid, but unnervingly indistinct-before the feed cuts out entirely. The message on the server changes, cycling through cryptic phrases:
"YOU DON'T BELONG."
"IT'S ALREADY TOO LATE."
You contact Central repeatedly, but the responses grow less reassuring. First, they promise reinforcements. Then they tell you to sit tight, that the situation is under review. Eventually, they go silent altogether.
On the fifth night, the perimeter alarms trip. Not a single one, but all of them at once. The sound is deafening, a cacophony of blaring warnings that seem to echo through the mountains. You rush to the control room, adrenaline pumping, only to find the server array offline. The room is plunged into darkness, save for the dim emergency lights casting eerie shadows on the walls.
That’s when you hear it: footsteps, deliberate and heavy, coming from the main corridor. You draw your weapon, every nerve in your body screaming to act. But as you take aim, the lights flicker, and for a brief moment, you see it-the figure from the cameras, standing at the far end of the hall. It doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. It just watches.
And then, everything goes black.
When you wake, you’re back in Division regional headquarters at Anchorage, lying on a cot in the infirmary. Your head throbs, and your body feels battered, as if you’ve been dragged through hell. A senior agent sits beside you, their expression unreadable.
“You’re lucky we got to you,” they say, their voice flat. “The outpost sent an automated distress signal. When our team arrived, the facility was… compromised.”
You try to speak, but the memories come in fragments. The alarms. The figure. The server going offline. “What happened to the server? The mission-did I fail?”
The agent hesitates, then leans in closer. “The server’s gone. Destroyed. And as for the rest… we’re still trying to piece it together. What we found in the facility doesn’t make sense.”
You want to press them, to demand answers, but their expression tells you it’s no use. Whatever happened at Black Ops Site 3 is beyond their understanding-or yours.
The Aleutian winds still howl in your ears, and deep down, you know one thing for certain: the forest isn’t finished with you.
Please leave a like if you'd like me to write this as an ongoing fanfiction series in Tom Clancy's: The Division universe!
Listening to this music while playing all of Rick Valassi's podcasts from the first Division game is soooo immensely satisfying!
This series of Black Ops Outpost is really immersive. I love it. Keep bringing more. My favourite so far is the Black Ops Outpost. I wonder what is the prompt you are using to nail this! Awesome job.
Thanks! Yea, the atmo turned out pretty nice, and working with Dolby Atmos has been a total game-changer. Talking of prompts - funny thing - my server got hacked recently, and now there’s a channel using my images for their videos. Literally every single one of them is made of an image ripped off (and re-rendered) from my archive.
Good, but I like the smaller more isolated rooms better.
Oh you are definitely alone in there.....
so cool
Love this place. But the image feels a bit "cramped". Possible to make it bigger?
Please make them 16x9 to fill my screen or tv!
I'm serious, you need to stop this right now, because you're hitting such gold every time. New LAN party next weekend at this location. No talking, only ambient.
👏👏👏👏👏👏👏
Are those IKEA Alex drawers?
Looks like it! 😂
hey it's top secret! :)
👊🤠
Couple upgradinos
Fernando muy entre colectivos muy difícil lobo muy entré cuál colectivos murió compañero