• It's cold... Everything is dark outside of the light that surrounds me from above. My hands, bound together to the back of a chair by something that was just as cold as the air. Pain screaming from every pore on my body from being lashed, burned, beaten.... and shot. The cold air nipped my body as most of my clothing was removed for torture purposes for the scum who think killing will bring about change! Makes me want to spit if my mouth wasn't so dry from thirst. I can't even remember how long I've been in this room.
    "You idiot! Beating him won't make him talk!" A not so Russian voice yelled at a goon from outside my cold hell. The door to the room opened with a bright light that forced me to look away with a grunt.
    I knew that outside that door was my heaven from this hell, but what do I care anymore... My friends betrayed me and left me here to die out of greed. The people I fought with, were torn apart because of one man with the world in his grasp. They betrayed me, and he killed them as they walked away with their new riches!
    "Excuse the behavior of the men." The man without the Russian dialect walked inside of the room as a shadow, hiding his presence by closing the door and staying near the black walls of the dark, cold room. My heart sank from what was going on. An American, like myself, working for this scum of an organization. "I want answers from you, but first..." His voice trailed off as I heard his footsteps maneuver behind me as I stared at the metal table that sat empty in the room.
    Then I heard something I never thought I'd live to hear. A small click that led to the pressure on my wrists relieved, but numb. This man removed my shackles? Why? He should know that I'm able to kill a man with my bare hands! But alas, my ankles weren't released yet. The feeling was finally rushing back to my wrists after so long. I was careless though, moving my hands to the front of my made the pain in my body erupt. My groan was loud even through my grinding teeth as I looked up to see a slightly young man, about my age sitting lazily and so casually in a seat in front of me with a look of no emotion.
    "Ashton Reaver, 27, born June 7th, 2015 in good ole' Philidelphia." The man started with my basic information with such a carefree tone. "Second commander of the Special Corp. Sierra. Callsign; Reaver. Squad.... The infamous Sierra Ze-"
    "Not anymore..." I interrupted when he was about to say the name of that squad that I've damned to hell the moment the squad left me here to rot.
    "Well, your in good hands for now. I've arranged a cell for you and that the men quit torturing you for information." He said as he rolled a bottle of water towards my on the table. My mind went blank when the bottle made contact with my sore hands as I just about chugged the bottle down. The water was so refreshing, if I could shed tears I would!
    "Why are you-"
    "Like I said, your in good hands." He cut me off and showed a badge from Recon Expertise Delta. A RED agent was here? But why? Did he know this would happen? He could've warned everyone of the scam! He could've stopped them from being killed! "I'm sorry about what happened to your squad. I couldn't blow my cover though because I found out enough info to link the global monopoly known as Glacia. I'm sure you've heard of them."
    Anger welled up when I heard that name. They were the one's who tried to bribe me into lying about taking this very base. They must've convinced my squad to betray me...
    "I'll take that as a yes..." The man stated with a sigh that showed me some sort of pity. "Tell me, how did a guy like you join a squad so well known as Sierra Zero?" <+>