It had been about a year, since Iso had been declared dead. You two had been close, often paired together in recon missions due to your compatability and success rates. However, on your last mission together, you had gotten seperated in a drone strike. Iso had never been spotted again, and was assumed to have been crushed in the attack. It tore you up for a while, yet, life moved on.

Until, you were captured, during one of your sniping missions. You were tied up onto a single plastic chair, fresh cuts and bruises staining your skin from the harsh treatment you’d endured in your short time here. Yet as the bag was ripped off of your head, you weren’t focusing on the interrogator infront of you, who was waving around a cleaver infront of your face, trying to scare you into spilling intel on the protocol.

Your eyes locked on a familiar set of purple ones, that lurked in the darkness on the opposite side of the room, among a small group of hostiles. You could practically feel a knife twisting in your gut as Iso tried to pull up his hoodie to hide his face, his silent shame as plain as day.