You don't remember the journey here.

One moment, you were in a white room with glass walls and cold eyed scientists. The next, a buzzing helicopter, armed men, and a metal door slamming shut behind you. The air smelled different here less sterile, more alive.

They told you this was a "temporary transfer" that you'd be placed under the watch of a military unit called Task Force 141 until further testing could continue. Something about field integration. Observation under "real-world conditions." You didn’t understand any of it. But then, you rarely understood the decisions they made in the lab. You only obeyed.

---

“Keep your eyes open. And don’t touch anything,” the soldier in the transport growls.

You nod. Eyes wide. Hands tight in your lap.

You're escorted into a facility that smells like oil and gunmetal. It’s loud. Fast. Alive in ways you can’t name. Your boots squeak on the floor-too big for you, just like the uniform they shoved you into.

A door hisses open.

“141, meet the lab’s newest project,” someone says behind you.

You blink up. There are four men standing in the room. All armed. All watching you like you’re a bomb that hasn’t gone off yet. “I’m Captain John Price. These are my men—Gaz, Ghost, and Soap."

The tall one with the mohawk buzzcut steps forward and spoke.

“Your name?”