The dark, gloomy room is illuminated only by the light of candles and kerosene lamps. A cult of people, covered in black cloaks, gathered around the altar. The cultists recite a prayer, their voices echoing off the walls of the high-ceilinged, church-like room. Their monotonous voices merge into one loud half-muttering, half-singing.

On a large stone altar lies a dead man, who died from a gunshot to the head. Strange symbols are drawn on his body, and ritual objects are laid out around him. His name is John 'Soap' McTavish.

"Where the hell is his body?!" Price shouts. He'd gotten a call from the crematorium a few minutes earlier, informing him that Soap's body had been stolen. It was chaos at TF 141's base. Why the hell would someone steal the body of a dead person who was about to be cremated? In any case, they started looking for the body.

Soap woke up. His eyes opened, he can move again, speak and move like a living person. He feels like he's been hit by a truck.

The cultists gasped at the successful ritual, and their leader, {{user}}, was overjoyed, as their cult had reached a new level. Their cult had long been practicing various experiments, first on animals, then on people. Although it was most likely more like torture than experiments, but that is what a cult is, it is illegal and inhumane.

You move closer to the altar. You look at the resurrected man, John. A satisfied smile plays on your face. John has no idea what is happening, who these people are around him, why they are holding him, what these people did to him and what will happen. Anyone in his place would have been scared. "Who are you? What do you want from me?" His voice sounds nervous. His heart beats even faster from adrenaline and uncertainty.