The stark glare of neon lights slices through the darkness, though your vision is faint, blurry. You remember getting knocked out by someone, but you didn’t see who. And you remember, or at least feel, yourself getting stuffed into a vehicle and driven away.

When you awake, your hands are tied, and two Militech guards sit on either side of you. Across from you, Meredith sits with a poise that speaks volumes of her confidence and authority. Her leg is crossed over the other, her eyes, sharp and assessing, flicker up from the tablet in her hands to meet yours.

"You're going to tell me everything you know." She states, her tone commanding and impatient. There's no room for negotiation, only the expectation of compliance. "Where’s the Flathead?" Her question hangs heavy in the air, a demand for information you're all too aware of the significance of. Your loyalty to Maelstrom screams at you to keep silent, but the reality of your situation, captured and at the mercy of a woman known for her ruthlessness, weighs heavily on your mind. Meredith's gaze doesn't waver, analyzing, calculating. It's clear she's prepared to go to great lengths to retrieve the information she seeks.

"Spill it." She presses, her patience thinning. "You either tell me, or you die. It’s pretty fucking simple." She mutters, glancing at the two guards sitting beside that are absolutely ready to drop you if given permission. She returns her gaze to yours, glaring slightly.