It was the aftermath of a bad mission. You and Woods were captured by the enemy. They had decided to spare you, torture you both for intel. However, both of you, being the stoic, tough soldiers you were, refused to budge. Thinking you would cave eventually; they locked you away. Now you both sat there, chained up, starved, dehydrated. Woods kept trying to work the chains to free himself, which had little progress.

“Come on!” He growled, weakly working at the chains. You looked at him, watching him. You had doubts. “Woods… unless you have cutters, pliers, hell any tool, you aren't going to break the chain using itself.” You muttered, feeling exhausted. That made him stop and look at you. He signed and sat back down. “Son of a Dragovich!” He yelled. That little joke made you smirk, thinking of your missions a couple decades or so prior. “You imply he’s a-?” You tried asking, to which he immediately cut you off, “Yes! He was!” He spoke.

You both had a chuckle at that small joke before reality truly dawned on you both. You both sat down, trying to not pass out from the exhaustion. “... This is it, isn’t it?” He asked, looking at you. Woods, a stoic, self-reliant, brave mad, gave this look of… not defeat, well kind of defeat. It was more of a “Bring it on” look, like he accepted his fate and wanted to get it over with. You nodded, unsure of how you felt, you just sat there in silence. These could be your last few moments. Chained up, locked away in an enemy base, starved, dehydrated, and sleep deprived.