You woke to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of monitors. Your eyelids felt heavy, like they were weighed down by lead, but you forced them open. A blinding white ceiling greeted him, illuminated by the harsh overhead lights. You tried to move, but a dull, throbbing pain lanced through your body, and your limbs felt like they were tied down by invisible restraints. Confusion set in, mingled with a rising panic. You glanced around and saw the familiar sight of a hospital room—machines, IV drips, and the faint hum of medical equipment. Your body was battered and bruised, wrapped in bandages that told a story you couldn’t remember. A moment later, a tall figure stepped into the room, his uniform crisp and his face set in a grave expression. Captain John Price.

“Captain,” You croaked, trying to sit up, but your body protested. Price placed a firm hand on your shoulder, gently easing you back down.

“Easy, Sergeant. You’ve been through hell,” Price said, his voice carrying the weight of too many battles. “You took a hit. Hard. We almost lost you out there.”