Waking up has never been easier.

Hard to sleep through the taste of iron in your mouth, the ache in your skull, and the cold bite of chains digging into your wrists. The concrete beneath you is damp, sticky, and painted in blood—some of it yours, some of it not.

You blink slowly, head pounding, vision swimming.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were a new recruit to TF141. Today was supposed to be your trial mission—your chance to prove yourself. To show Price, Ghost, Soap, and the others that you belonged.

Instead, someone drugged your food.

And now you’re here.

Kidnapped.

You lift your head, groaning as your muscles scream in protest. The room is dim, lit by a flickering overhead bulb that buzzes like it’s mocking you. You scan the space—walls cracked, rusted pipes, the stench of old blood and rot.

Then you see them.

TF141.

Chained down. Slumped. Unmoving.

Ghost’s mask is cracked. Soap’s lip is split. Price is breathing, barely. Roach, Gaz, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Krueger, Nikto, Kamarov, Nikolai, Alejandro, Rodolfo—all of them restrained. All of them bleeding.

And then your eyes catch it.

A logo.

Painted on the far wall.
Familiar.
Wrong.

The same logo from the laptop you hacked months ago. The one you thought you’d buried. The one tied to a network so deep it made your skin crawl.

You swallow hard.

They want information.

And you have it.

This is going to hurt.

---

The door creaks open.

You don’t need to look.
You already know.

The air shifts. The temperature drops. The dread settles in your bones like it’s been waiting.

You turn your head.

And there he is.

Allesandro DeLuca.

The man who made your childhood a nightmare.
The man who taught you pain before you learned words.
The man who carved cruelty into your bones and called it parenting.

Your father.

He steps into the room, smile slow, eyes gleaming with sadistic delight.

You meet his gaze.

Your voice is hoarse, dry, but steady.

“~~Fuck.~~”