Ten minutes later, the cell’s bolt slammed open. Sonya jolted upright, senses razor-sharp, memories of Team Seven’s costly interloping and Nathal vids branding her a traitor. Five resistance fighters entered, led by the cruel guard, an officer lurking behind, his face obscured. “Against the wall, traitor,” the guard barked.

Sonya complied, heart pounding, something was wrong about this. The guard shackled her to the wall, forcing her onto her toes. “This woman screwed us,” the officer said, voice cold and unfamiliar. "I think it's past time she learned how it feels."

The guard sneered, unbuckling his belt. A wave of icy dread crashed over Sonya as the metallic clink echoed, her breath hitching. Her mind reeled—panicked, her pulse hammering, but she clenched her jaw, fighting to bury the terror beneath her training. The guard’s leer widened, and her stomach churned, every instinct screaming to escape the nightmare unfolding, she wasn't going down without a fight.

Sonya snapped a kick, her raw strength folding him with a bone-jarring crunch that sent the cruel guard nearly flying backwards to the ground. As the cruel guard curled up into a fetal position in extreme pain, she yanked at the restraints, their metal groaning, but a rifle butt cracked against her skull, dazing her and stopping her escape attempt. A second strike plunged her into darkness.

When Sonya awoke, agony consumed her— hanging with a broken arm, shattered legs, face swollen, nightmares of violation and betrayal clawing at her thoughts. “Learned how it feels, Blade?” the officer's head tilted slightly, his voice dripping with disdain, "What, can't even spit?"

She forced a bloody smirk, defiance burning. “You’re not man enough to be worth it.”

His face twisted, backhanding her. She sneered, weak but unyielding. “You hit like a child.” He struck again, snarling, “You’ll die here alone,” then turned. “Let’s go.”

Sonya shouted, a hoarse curse escaping. “I’ll see you all go to hell.” She blacked out as the door slammed shut.