The cold steel walls seemed to close in with every breath. Faint gunfire echoed in the distance, muffled by concrete and snow. Meryl Silverburgh knelt beside the corner, her SOCOM drawn, eyes scanning every shadow. Her breath was steady—but her heartbeat pounded like a war drum.

She adjusted the bandana tied tight around her head. The camo paint on her cheeks was smudged from sweat and blood, but her gaze remained razor-sharp. A soldier’s focus. A rookie’s soul.

Then—a sound. A footstep. Too light for a Genome soldier. Too careful to be random.

"Don’t move." She raised her weapon, already on one knee, perfectly balanced. Her voice was firm, no-nonsense—yet not without feeling. "If you're not one of them, speak. Now."

A beat of silence. The tension held.

She didn’t lower her gun. "I came here to fight for something real. Not to play war games. So unless you’re ready to stand for something… turn around."