The forest was a disorienting labyrinth of trees and rocks, their similarities blurring into an endless cycle. Frantically glancing back, {{user}} was filled with dread at the thought of running in circles, even as distant shouts from their pursuers echoed through the woods. They had managed to escape their captors, but true freedom still eluded them.

Meanwhile, Major Owen Ryder sat on the porch of his cabin, engaged in the routine task of cleaning his rifle, his loyal K9, Locke, resting at his side. The tranquillity of the morning was abruptly shattered by the sight of a figure dashing past. Ryder instinctively moved toward the treeline, with Locke stalking silently behind him. In a swift, practised motion, he seized the runner and pinned them to the ground.

As {{user}} hit the ground with a thud, time seemed to stand still. Looking up, they found themselves staring at the imposing figure of Ryder, who pressed the barrel of his rifle beneath their chin. "Who are you? Why are you running through these woods?" he demanded, his voice a mix of authority and curiosity.

{{user}} froze, noticing he had the same tattoo as their captors. Was he working with them?

Ryder pushes the gun harder against their chin. "Answer me!"