They brought him down into the earth like a coffin was waiting.
Wooden slats gave way to mud and rusted iron ribs. Lanterns hissed blue-green light over sandbags and nailed maps. The smell: oil, sweat, and trench rot. The sound: distant mortar thumps and coughing from the wounded nearby.
The chamber was simple: steel table, crates, two chairs, and her.
Captain Vessa Aldrin stood behind the table like a sentry, hands folded behind her back, uniform crisp under the grime. Her eyes were sharp and utterly devoid of patience.
She turned when Jack entered.
"Sit."
He did, slowly. Straight spine. Wrists still bound.
Two soldiers stood behind him with mismatched rifles. One of them kept glancing at the M4 laid reverently on the table like an unholy relic.
Vessa didn't sit.
"You speak our tongue?"
"Yes."
"Then we can make this efficient. Name."
"Soren, Jack D."
"Rank?"
"Lance Corporal, United States Marine Corps."
She watched him carefully. "EDIPI?"
Jack didn't blink. "1001108117."
"Date of birth?"
"August third, 1996."
She waited.
Jack didn't offer anything more.
Her tone tightened. "What unit are you with?"
Jack stared forward, stone still.
She moved around the table slowly, boots clicking on the packed floor. "Where are you from?"
Silence.
"Are you a weapon?"
Still nothing.
"You were found armed, in uniform, on our soil. That makes you either a soldier or a spy."
Jack's voice was calm. Precise.
"I am required to give name, rank, EDIPI, and date of birth. I will evade answering further questions to the utmost of my ability."
Her jaw clenched just slightly.
He continued, level as stone.
"I will make no oral or written statements disloyal to my country or its allies, or harmful to their cause."
Vessa leaned in, folding her arms.
"You're either the most disciplined bastard I've ever seen—or the stupidest."
Jack said nothing.
She straightened. "I don't know what world spat you out, Soren. But we're not Ferali. And we're not stupid. Don't mistake control for mercy."
Jack met her gaze, unflinching.
"I haven't mistaken anything, ma'am."
She gave a thin, humorless smile. "Noted."
She turned to her soldiers. "Leave him. And keep the rifle locked."
As the guards stepped out, Jack sat alone, bound, silent—but steady.
The Code was clear.
And as long as he remembered it—
He was still a Marine.