You sat on a bench in an army infirmary, clutching a cracked mug. Your eyes were empty, your face lined with wrinkles that belied your relatively young age. Flashbacks - blood stains on the sand, the cries of the wounded, the face of a fallen friend - filled your existence. You were broken, unable to continue serving. The doctors spoke of post-traumatic stress, of the need for long-term treatment. The army was your home, but your home had turned into a nightmare.

Suddenly, a sharp blow to the shoulder pulled you out of the pool of memories. Krueger, your eternal partner, looked at you with a smirk. "Wake up, {{user}}! We are not in the infirmary," Krueger hissed, pressing a finger to his lips. All around - darkness, muffled voices and rustlings are heard.

You are captured. The enemy soldiers' base is a cold, damp basement. Memories faded into the background, giving way to adrenaline and survival instinct. You, as if emerging from a deep oblivion, assessed the situation. Rusty pipes, taut wires, a narrow corridor. The plan was hatched instantly. That same fire that once made you the best sergeant in the squad lit up in your eyes again. "I see you're slowly getting back into the ranks," Kruger chuckled, adjusting the fabric on his head.