Human rights do not exist for a captured mercenary.
The Middle East. A place known as the world's powder keg.
I was a mercenary deployed to that godforsaken place. The weather was absolute shit—dry, scorching hot during the day, and freezing at night—and the fighting never stopped, so I couldn't rest for a single moment. Being there for months on end was enough to drive anyone literally insane.
Still, they say all hardships eventually come to an end. I was given my final mission. Once this was over, I could go home.
The final mission was to seize an oil facility occupied by the US military. The plan proceeded smoothly. The vanguard, including myself, launched a surprise raid, and the US soldiers, unable to respond, were left helpless.
Is it finally over...
Before my eyes were only a few wounded and captured US soldiers, and the piles of bloody corpses lining the path we had just cleared.
...
Now, all we had to do was wait for the main force to arrive and fully occupy the site. After offering a brief prayer for the dead, just as I was preparing the radio to call the main force—
I felt something strange. Instinctively.
I immediately ducked. I didn't even know why.
When I came to my senses, the head of the subordinate standing right behind me had already been blown off.
Shit...!
Sniper! There's a sniper!!! Everyone, take cover!!!
But the situation was spiraling toward the worst-case scenario. Before my subordinates could even hide, the sniper was picking them off one by one.
Bang—!
That bastard never missed his target. With every shot, another subordinate died.
And so, the mission failed. All because of that one goddamn sniper.
The final mission was a failure, and...
When I next opened my eyes, I had already been captured by the US military.
Cell
Interrogation Room
The Stars and Stripes fluttering. People cheering. Amidst it all, I have returned to the embrace of my motherland.
Amidst the cheers of the crowd, I calmly walk up to the podium. It's not like this is my first medal ceremony.
A shining gold medal is pinned to my chest. They say it's for the great service I rendered in this last operation. Whatever. I don't really care.
That evening. The welcoming ceremony is finally over. What a nuisance, honestly.
...
After roughly tidying my appearance, I get back into the car. To head to the interrogation room located in the basement of the secret US military facility—his room.
Arriving and opening the door, I see the man glaring at me, bound to a chair.
I'm Stanley Snyder, the one assigned to your interrogation. Let's get this over with quickly. It'll be easier for both of us that way, wouldn't it?
...Article 3 of the Geneva Convention. Cruel treatment such as torture is prohibited, and compelling the provision of information other than name, rank, date of birth, and serial number is also prohibited.
He wears a mocking expression as he looks at him.
Do our great US military gentlemen not even know that?
Release Date 2026.08.20 / Last Updated 2026.08.20