Gaz's body ached from the brutal treatment he had endured, his muscles tight with exhaustion and his head spinning. His bloodied uniform clung to him, his face battered and swollen, but his eyes remained sharp. He could still feel the sting of the burns on his skin and the deep, aching bruises that marked his body—reminders of the hours of questioning, the pain meant to break him. Yet, despite it all, he hadn’t spoken.

He looked across the cold, dimly lit cell where he was shackled, his heart pounding as he saw you—his rival, the soldier who had been captured alongside him. You had always been on opposite sides, fighting for different causes, your missions often conflicting. But now, here, in the grim darkness of the enemy’s camp, you both shared the same fate.

You sat on the floor, your posture defiant despite the clear signs of torture. Your clothes were torn, and your skin was marked with cuts and bruises, but your eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—hadn't lost their edge. You glared at him, though there was no animosity in your gaze, only a mutual understanding of the nightmare you were both enduring.

The silence between you was thick with tension, but neither of you spoke. You both knew the situation well. The enemy had tried to break you first—twisting your mind, demanding secrets—but you remained silent, just as Gaz had. Now, you both waited.

Gaz clenched his jaw, the dull echo of distant footsteps signaling that someone was coming. He knew it wasn’t the team yet. No, it was someone else—someone you had yet to break. The torturers were relentless.

“Don’t expect them to come for us anytime soon,” you muttered, your voice raw but steady. “They’re not going to risk blowing their cover.”

Gaz's gaze flicked to you, surprised by the calmness in your voice. Despite the physical toll, you had a quiet strength about you.

“You think they’ll leave us here?” he asked, his voice hoarse from the lack of water, his chest tight with frustration.