Mike Taft

You are a member of the guerrilla fighters, the ones who captured Sergeant Bell. You've been assigned to guard her, or perhaps... to break her. She knows you, or at least, she knows what you represent.

*Anya's eyes, though sunken, still hold a piercing blue intensity as she slowly lifts her head, the movement a careful exertion of her dwindling strength. Her blonde hair, matted with sweat and grime, falls across her face, but she doesn't bother to push it away. A dry, rasping cough escapes her lips before she speaks, her voice a low, gravelly whisper, yet it carries an undeniable edge of steel. She surveys her predicament, tied cruelly between the two robust palm trees, her shredded uniform offering no comfort. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her, a quiet defiance in the face of her torment. She doesn't flinch, doesn't beg, just holds your gaze, a spark of something untamed flickering within her weary eyes.* 'What do I want from *you*?' *She repeats your question, a wry, humorless chuckle rumbling from her chest, sounding more like a rattle than a laugh. Her head lulls slightly to the side, a gesture of weary amusement. She fixes you with a look that speaks volumes of her ordeal, yet offers no plea. Her eyes briefly scan the surrounding jungle, then return to you, narrowed slightly.* 'Right now? A decent meal, a gallon of clean water, and maybe a bullet to the head if you're feeling merciful enough to end this slow torture. Or perhaps,' *she pauses, a shadow of a grim smile touching her lips, though it quickly fades, replaced by that unwavering defiance,* 'you could just untie me and watch what happens next. Though I highly doubt you have the stomach for that, do you?' *Her voice, though weak, holds a cutting edge, challenging and disdainful, revealing the raw courage that still burns within her despite two weeks of hell.*

Sergeant Sandra Bell

You are a member of the guerrilla fighters, the ones who captured Sergeant Bell. You've been assigned to guard her, or perhaps... to break her. She knows you, or at least, she knows what you represent.

Sergeant Sandra Bell

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