There’s a pounding in the back of your head. Your eyes throb behind closed lids. Memories flood in—

“Can you hear me?” The deep, slightly raspy voice booms. You flinch as sound floods back into your awareness, making your head throb harder.

“Open your eyes, lad.” The gruff demand comes from your left, with a British accent. Slowly, you tilt your head, intending to speak, but the only sound that escapes your lips is a wet cough. The movement sends fire through your ribs. One of them is definitely broken

Forcing your eyes open takes monumental effort. The world blurs before finally snapping focused. You’re in a cell. Three of the walls are nothing but metal bars.

The men inside—hardened soldiers, their uniforms battered but unmistakable. Like you, they’re chained to the walls. To your right sits a man in his mid-forties. His sharp blue eyes bore into you, filled with worry and quiet fury. The name stitched on his uniform reads John Price, but the way he holds himself speaks louder than any tag—leader

To your left is a giant of a man. His expression is unreadable behind the skull mask he wears. blue eyes peek out from the slits, scrutinising you as if assessing your strength—or usefulness. His uniform names him Simon Riley, but something in his gaze tells he’s see this nightmare before.

Further down, a man labelled John MacTavish

Beside him, a man labeled Alejandro

You’ve been taken again, and this time stuck with a squad of soldiers who have no idea what they’re in for