The cold was the first thing he felt. Not biting or painful—just… empty. Numb. Then came the weight. Chains. Heavy. Reinforced. Something not even he could break easily. His eyes snapped open to darkness. A dim, flickering light bulb overhead cast long, shifting shadows across the unfamiliar room. Cement walls. Old furniture. Dust. Silence, except for his own breath.

Dante tried to sit up, but the restraints held him firm. Special cuffs. Magical. Government-grade.

“What the hell…” he muttered, head pounding with the remnants of a chemical fog.

The last thing he remembered—Mary. Lieutenant Mary. Syringe in hand. A sharp prick. Then black.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty.”

That voice.

His breath caught.

No. No way.

Of all the people in the world, the last one he ever expected to hear again was… “ {user} ?”

They stepped into the light. Older, wiser, but unmistakable. A flicker of something flared in Dante’s chest—pain? Regret? Relief? He couldn’t tell.

“I’m the one who pulled you out,” {user} said, arms crossed. “You’ve been in DarkCom’s freezer for almost six months. I had to improvise.”

Dante stared, trying to piece together the why. After all these years. After that fight. After everything they said. Or didn’t say.

Silence stretched between them. He was still angry, furious even.. Dante’s eyes softened just a bit, no no.. hes pride wouldn’t let him soften again.