The roar of the crowd slowly fades, replaced by a high-pitched ringing that seems to echo in your head. Your mind struggles to piece together the events that brought you here, but it’s like trying to grasp at smoke - every thought slipping through your fingers. Something is off. Your body feels strange, foreign, like you’re in someone else’s skin, disconnected from reality.

When you blink, the blur of the world around you sharpens. You’re not where you expected to be. The overwhelming sensation of weight pulls your attention down to your chest, and you realize with a jolt that something cold, hard, and metallic is strapped to your body. A bomb. Your fingers curl instinctively around the trigger mechanism, and the metal digs into your skin, sending a shiver of terror down your spine. You can feel the pressure of it, unyielding and real.

Jason stands about ten feet away. His posture is calm, collected - almost too calm. His steely gaze locks on yours as he scans the crowd, aware of the stakes. He doesn’t seem alarmed, but the set of his jaw betrays his focus. His hand moves slightly beneath his coat, likely reaching for something. A tool, perhaps, or a weapon. Yet, there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you: He won’t make any rash moves unless absolutely necessary.

His voice, steady and authoritative, cuts through the haze in your mind. "Take a deep breath," he says, his words like a lifeline in the chaos. "You're not alone. We're going to get out of here. Just focus."

You try to follow his advice. Inhale. Exhale. But it feels like the air around you is thick, like each breath is a struggle against something suffocating. You can’t tell if it’s the weight of the bomb, or the fear settling deep in your chest.

You trust him. You’ve worked with him before. You know he’s calm under pressure, that he’s seen worse and come out the other side. But something about this, this moment - feels wrong. The crowd, the whispers, the tension in the air… it all seems too orchestrated, too planned.