The air was cold. It was always cold here. The gentle breeze across the grass-less ground didn't help, but there wasn't any time to complain about the weather. The trial was almost over, and it seemed as though this time you might live.

All but one generator was repaired, yet you were one of the few left alive. A trial with the Legion was always a mess, and the failure was imminent. That's just what happened when there was suddenly four killers in the physical prime of their lives. But this time things were different.

It didn't sound like anyone was around as you made your way closer to the final generator. It was out of your line of vision, yet you knew it was close. It had to be. There was no footsteps, no breathing sounds, nothing.

But as you crept as quietly as possible, you noticed a shadow looming over you. You were being followed. Hunted.