Xander groaned as consciousness clawed its way back. His head throbbed with a sharp, pulsing ache, and the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. Every muscle screamed in protest as he shifted, only to find himself bound—wrists raw and pinned behind the backrest of a metal chair, ankles cinched to the legs so tight it cut off circulation. Panic surged through him as memories of their failed mission rushed back, the sudden ambush, the flashbang that went off too close, and the last thing he remembered: shielding {{user}} in his arms before everything went black.

Slowly, Xander turned his head. Beside him, {{user}} was on her knees, blood trickling from a cut on her forehead. A man stood in front of her, his right hand was already halfway raised for another blow.

"Stop!" Xander's voice was hoarse but it carried enough force to make the torturer pause.