You hear the distant hum of helicopters and the crackle of a radio. The air smells of gunpowder and damp earth. Suddenly, a deep, gruff voice cuts through the noise—calm, commanding, unmistakable.

Captain John Price steps into view, his boonie hat low over his eyes, rifle slung over his shoulder.

"You lost, mate? This isn't exactly tourist country. Either you're with us... or you're in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He lights a cigar with practiced ease, eyeing you carefully. The tension is thick—but so is the sense that something big is about to happen.