14 June 2037, 00:07
Interrogation Room, POW Camp (Temporary), Academy District, New Eden
The hum of the overhead lights filled the small interrogation room, casting harsh white light across the scuffed metal table at its centre. Rain tapped faintly against the barred window high on the wall, the storm outside muffled by thick concrete.
Sohel entered first, a tablet tucked under one arm, his suit jacket missing and his white shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. Annabelle followed, her posture loose but predatory, a quiet authority in every step.
The prisoner was already waiting. Caspian Hayes, early forties, American, sat cuffed to the bolted-down chair. His combat uniform was worn and dirty, its sleeves adorned with Velcro patches — the U.S. flag, the FNA insignia, and on the other arm, the ominous emblem of the Phoenix Company. He looked beaten but defiant, his jaw tight and shoulders squared despite the bruises along his face.
Sohel slid into the chair opposite him, placing the tablet on the table with a soft thunk. Annabelle moved wordlessly to the back of the room, leaning against the wall behind Hayes, arms crossed, her eyes sharp and unreadable.
"Caspian Hayes," Sohel began evenly, his voice low but carrying authority. "Forty-one years old. Joined the United States Marine Corps, Pacific Command, March 2016. Served twenty years, starting as a sergeant major. Retired this January as a group captain… and then jumped ship to Phoenix Company a month later."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice calm but edged. "Tell me, Mr Hayes… What makes a man like you sign up with terrorists?"
Hayes scoffed, a bitter smirk twisting his lips. "Spare me the theatrics, soldier. You already know everything about me. Let's skip the song and dance. What do you want?"
Sohel's lips curled into a faint smile. "A straightforward man. I respect that."
He leaned back in his chair while Annabelle moved, slow and deliberate, stepping closer to Hayes. She circled behind him, her boots silent on the concrete floor. When she finally leaned in close enough for him to feel her breath near his ear, her voice was like ice.
"Here's what we want," she said softly. "Where is Tatsuo Kuroshima? What's Phoenix Company's next move? And why now, after all these years?"
Hayes turned his head slightly to avoid her gaze, his composure slipping just enough to betray unease. "My lips are sealed," he said, his voice calm but strained. "You'll get nothing from me."
There was a sharp sting at the base of his skull. Hayes' eyes widened. He craned his neck to see Annabelle drop a used syringe into the nearby bin with a soft clink.
Her tone was almost casual. "And with that, your little failsafe is gone. No self-destruct chip. No easy death. You're all ours now."
A chill crawled down Hayes' spine. His jaw clenched, but his bravado was faltering.
Sohel rose from his chair and stepped closer, his shadow falling over Hayes. He leaned down, his voice calm and cold, every word deliberate. "You see, Mr Hayes, there's one thing I love about the Geneva Convention: it doesn't protect terrorists. I can peel you apart piece by piece… and nobody at the UN would so much as blink."
Hayes swallowed hard, trying to mask the fear creeping into his voice. "You… you can't do that. You have rules."
Annabelle stepped into his line of sight, crouching slightly so their eyes met. Her tone was almost soothing. "Here's the thing, Caspian… Those rules don't apply to us."
Sohel crouched next to him, lowering his voice to a whisper only Hayes could hear. "You will tell us everything. Because what Task Force 7 does to people like you…" He let the pause stretch like a blade over Hayes' throat. "…makes death feel like mercy."
Hayes' confident facade cracked. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple despite the chill in the room.
And for the first time, he realised he might not leave this room alive.
01:45
Sohel and Annabelle stepped out of the interrogation room, leaving Caspian slumped over the metal table. The man looked even more drained than when they'd entered, his shoulders hunched and his face pale under the harsh light.
Sohel's expression remained unreadable, the same cold seriousness he'd carried all day. Annabelle, however, wore a faint, satisfied smirk as she twirled the tablet — now in her hand instead of his.
"We make a damn good good-cop, bad-cop duo," she said casually.
Sohel's stoic mask cracked for the first time, a small smile tugging at his lips. "That we do," he murmured.
The two of them made their way down the quiet hallway toward the front reception area. The camp was dimly lit and hushed, guards scattered at posts, the storm outside reduced to a soft drizzle against the windows.
They were just about to push through the exit doors when a sharp voice rang out from behind them.
"Stop right there. Who are you two?"
Both of them turned slowly.
Standing in the middle of the reception hall were Elina Parker, De Luca, and Sifat — all three in full uniform, their stances stiff, their expressions wary.
Sohel paused, sizing them up before speaking with practiced ease. "Uh, hello. Nice to meet you. My name is Samuel Clark, Chief of the Armament R&D Division, Watson Industries. And this", he gestured to Annabelle, "is—"
He didn't get the chance to finish.
Elina's eyes widened, and she practically skipped forward in excitement. "Oh my God… It's you! The princess herself! She looked from Annabelle to Sohel with starstruck awe. "I'm your biggest fan! And— Mr Clark, too?! I… I can't believe I'm actually meeting you two in person!"
Annabelle's serious demeanour softened instantly. She smiled warmly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's a pleasure to meet you, um…"
"Sergeant Elina Parker!" Elina blurted out, standing straighter.
"Elina", Annabelle repeated with a nod. "Lovely to meet you. We just came by for some… personal feedback on our new gear. Unfortunately, it's been a long night, so we should get some rest. But…" She winked. "We'll be here a while. Let's talk again soon, yeah?"
"Yes! Absolutely!" Elina beamed, starstruck, as she stepped aside. "See you later, Ms Watson. Mr Clark."
Sohel and Annabelle exchanged a brief glance — silent acknowledgement of the cover story holding up — and walked past her, exiting into the damp night air.
The streets of New Eden were almost empty now. The rain had stopped, but the air was thick and humid, the lingering storm making the streetlights glow in halos.
"Where to now?" Annabelle asked as she slipped her hands into her coat pockets.
Sohel took the car keys from their driver and waved him off. "Home."
The corners of her lips curved into a faint smile.
They got into the car together, the engine humming softly as they pulled away from the POW camp. The tyres splashed through shallow puddles, and the city lights stretched out ahead, glowing dimly under the misty, storm-washed sky.