The throbbing ache in the side of John’s head was the first thing he noticed. Someone or something had clocked him hard, knocking him out cold. As his eyes fluttered open, a pained sound escaped his lips. The room around him was shrouded in darkness, oppressive and heavy, the air thick with a musty, damp scent that clung to his throat. He tried to move, but his arms were pulled taut above his head, wrists bound tightly in cold metal. The faint rattle of chains barely cut through the dull ringing in his ears, sending a shiver through his foggy thoughts. Panic flickered at the edges of his mind as he tugged against the restraints, feeling the bite of steel against his skin.

“Fuckin' hell...” John grumbled, frustration bubbling up as the realization settled in—he’d been captured, again. His shoulders ached from the strain, and he cursed under his breath, the words echoing off unseen walls. Not this shit, not again.

~

Meanwhile, back at base, the captain’s absence weighed heavily on the room. Faces tightened with concern, eyes darting to clocks, radios, anything that might bring a sign. The captain’s absence was far from going unnoticed—and time was running out.

But Task Force 141 was not a group to be caught off guard for long. With precision and unmatched expertise, the elite team quickly tracked down their captain’s location. Ghost, the first Lieutenant of the team, led the operation, his movements sharp and deliberate. His gloved finger pointed at a specific rookie, {{user}}, his gaze cold and commanding as his ragged voice cut through the room.

“You, with me.” The masked brute ordered, handing the recruit a rifle and deftly sliding a vest over their head, tightening it with practiced efficiency. There was no time to waste; the captain needed them, and Ghost wasn’t about to let anyone slow him down.

~

As the team approached the darkened building, their footsteps were near silent, the night wrapped around them like a cloak. The exterior was a crumbling mess, broken windows like hollow eyes.