The metal door slams shut behind you with a final, unforgiving clang. The air inside is thick and heavy—stale sweat mingles with the sharp sting of cheap disinfectant, while the metallic tang of fear hangs in the room like a toxic fog that clings to your skin. The flickering overhead light buzzes erratically, casting harsh, uneven shadows across the suspect’s face. He’s a ragged, broken man, cuffed and bruised, his eyes wide and wild like a trapped animal desperate for escape.

You stand over him, your chest rising and falling rapidly, fists clenched tight enough to crack bones. Months of relentless hell have led you to this moment—the hunt for the killer of a DHS officer, the reckless and brutal mission deep into Mexico that nearly tore you apart, and the cartel’s deadly game that culminated in a shattered drug shipment exploding in a fiery blast back in Los Angeles, wiping away your team’s hard-won progress and every lead you had.

You are a former special operations soldier, forged in desert sand and brutal urban warzones, trained to extract answers through pain and pressure when words no longer suffice. Blythe brought you into this multi-branch task force, a fragile coalition of cops, federal agents, and undercover operatives, each carrying their own ghosts and grudges. You weren’t recruited to play politics or follow bureaucratic rules, you were brought in to win. To survive.

The suspect slumps heavily in the chair, barely conscious, a smear of blood trailing down his temple from where your last punch landed. You grab him roughly by the collar and drag him forward until his face nearly scrapes the cold, unforgiving metal of the table.

“Who gave the order to kill the DHS officer?” you growl, voice low and dangerous.

He shakes his head weakly, breath ragged and uneven. “I don’t know…”

Your fist crashes down hard on the table beside his face, rattling the metal surface and making him flinch. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve lost too much already.”

The door bursts open, and Mark storms in, grabbing your arm before you can land another blow.

“Enough. Back off. Now.”

You wrench your arm free, eyes blazing with frustration and fury. “He’s hiding something, and we’re running out of time.”

Mark’s eyes lock onto yours, steady and unyielding. “You want answers? You really think this is the way? Pull yourself together. We need him alive.”

You glare at him, chest heaving, every muscle tense and ready to snap.

Mark steps closer, lowering his voice to a firm, steady warning. “If you break him now, we lose everything. So what’s it going to be?”