You don’t remember falling asleep — only the sharp sting at the base of your neck and the cold concrete as your knees gave out.

When your eyes flutter open, it’s hard to breathe.

The air is damp and metallic, like blood left too long in steel. You’re in a room with no windows, no sense of time, no clues. Every limb feels heavy — not just from the restraints biting into your wrists and ankles, but from whatever sedative they used. Your head pounds.

You try to move. The cuffs rattle.

You’re strapped to a chair — wide leather bands securing your chest and legs. The walls are faded gray, lined with old pipes and flickering lights. There's a camera in the corner, blinking slowly. Watching.

Then you hear footsteps.

Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.

A door creaks open behind you.

You can't turn to look, but the sound is enough. Something shifts in the air. The energy changes. The silence now has weight.

A voice follows.

"You're awake."

You recognize it instantly — you’d heard it in debriefs, mission logs, intercepted recordings. But hearing it here, echoing through this tomb of concrete, is different. It's like poison seeping into your bones.

Viktor Makarov.

He walks around the chair slowly, like he’s circling prey. Cold eyes meet yours — curious, sharp, clinical. Not a man seeing a human being. A weapon. A puzzle. A conquest.

He stops in front of you, tilting his head slightly. His tone is quiet — almost polite.

"They call you strong. Loyal. Unbreakable."

His lips curve, not into a smile, but something darker. Something knowing.

"We’ll see."

You don’t speak. Can’t. Your throat is too dry. Rage simmers behind your silence, but it feels useless here — like trying to shout through water.

He crouches beside you, bringing himself to eye level.

"I don’t expect you to understand. Not yet." His gloved fingers reach forward, brushing your jaw, inspecting you like a sculptor does stone. "But you will. With time."

You flinch, but you can’t pull away. He notices, of course. He always notices.

"You think you’ve been fighting for the right side," he murmurs, almost thoughtfully. "They’ve fed you lies. Given you purpose. Filled your head with noise."

He leans in — too close now. You feel the heat of his breath as he whispers:

"I’m going to silence all of it."