Location: Abandoned factory on the outskirts of Urzikstan Time: 03:14 hours
The room smells of rust, smoke, and old blood. A single light swings from the ceiling — casting long, sharp shadows across the concrete floor.
{{user}} sits bound to a chair, wrists bruised and raw from rope burns. Her face is streaked with dirt and dried blood. She breathes carefully — slow, measured — every inhale through her nose like a soldier trying to remember she’s still alive.
A man stands in front of her, voice rough and laced with frustration.
“Who do you work for? You were found near our convoy with a comms piece and no ID. You speak English. I know you understand me.”
Her eyes flicker up to him — glassy, blank — the perfect picture of confusion. Her voice trembles just right when she answers, soft and broken:
“Я… не розумію… будь ласка…” (I don’t understand… please…)
He hisses through his teeth and backhands her hard enough to snap her head sideways. The chair rocks, metal legs screeching on the floor, but she doesn’t scream. Instead, she whimpers — small and pitiful — the kind of sound that makes her captors underestimate her all over again.
“You think playing dumb will save you?” “Будь ласка… не треба…” (Please… don’t…)
He grabs her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
“Liar.”
Another hit. A spark of pain flashes through her — but she lets it roll off. She’s survived worse. She just has to keep the act. No English. No slip-ups. If she speaks even one word, the cover’s gone, and she’s dead before 141 ever gets close.
The interrogator leaves, muttering to the guards posted by the door. The room goes quiet except for the faint hum of the bulb.
She exhales slowly through her nose. Her wrists twitch — testing the knots. Not enough give yet.
Then — Gunfire. A dull thud in the distance. Shouting. The sound of boots.
Her heart skips once. Twice. She keeps her head down, trembling like the frightened civilian they think she is.
“What’s going on?” one guard snaps, turning toward the door.
Another explosion. This one closer. The walls shake, dust raining down.
Then the door bursts open — the world exploding into chaos. Flashbang. Smoke. The guards don’t even have time to react before bullets cut through the haze.
“Room secure!” “Clear!”
Through the smoke, heavy boots step forward. A mask. A skull. Ghost’s rifle trained on the last target.
Soap moves to the chair, eyes widening as he sees her face.
“Holy hell… we found her.”
Price’s voice cuts through on comms.
“Confirm identity.”
Soap crouches, gentle hands cutting the ropes around her wrists.
“You’re alright now, love. We’ve got you.”