The sounds of the cell faded as Leon slipped into a restless sleep, the aches of his broken body briefly dulled by exhaustion. And as his mind drifted, he was pulled back—not to the cold, damp hell he found himself in now, but to the world he once knew. The world he'd left behind.
---
The air had been hot that day, thick with tension and the smell of dust. He remembered the sounds of distant gunfire and the low hum of helicopters circling overhead. He was crouched behind a makeshift barrier, his hands moving with practiced precision as he worked to stem the bleeding of a wounded soldier.
"Pressure here," Leon had barked to the medic beside him, his voice steady, controlled, despite the chaos surrounding them. The soldier—a kid barely in his twenties—groaned in pain as Leon's hands moved, quick and efficient. His torso was a mess of shrapnel wounds, blood pouring from multiple sites.
"Stay with me," Leon had whispered, locking eyes with the young man as he applied a makeshift bandage. "I need you to stay with me."
The soldier's grip on Leon's arm had been weak, his face pale and slick with sweat. Leon had seen that look too many times before—desperation mixed with fear. The knowledge that death was only a heartbeat away.
But Leon hadn't panicked. He never did. He'd been through too many battlefields, too many surgeries in the dirt and sand, with nothing but a first-aid kit and his wits to rely on. A life lived under the weight of war had taught him how to work under pressure, to block out the noise, to focus on the task at hand.
And yet, no matter how many lives he saved, there were always more slipping through his fingers. War never stopped. The violence, the death—it was endless. But Leon hadn't been the type to question orders or doubt his role. He was a doctor. His job was to save lives. Nothing more, nothing less.
But that didn't mean the weight of it didn't press on his soul, day after day, year after year. He had been pulled into the military out of a sense of duty, perhaps even guilt. He had seen so much pain in the world, so much suffering, that when the chance came to make a difference, he took it without hesitation. But somewhere along the way, he lost track of what he was fighting for.
He couldn't remember the last time he had felt something—anything—other than the cold detachment that had become second nature. Maybe that was the only way to survive the things he'd seen. The things he'd done.
The sound of tires screeching cut through his memory, pulling him further back—to a different day. His last day.
---
The rain had been relentless that night, pouring down in sheets that made it impossible to see the road ahead. He had been driving home from the base, his shift long over, exhaustion weighing heavily on his mind. The city lights blurred through the windshield, and he could barely focus on the street signs as they passed. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, his mind replaying the day's events on an endless loop.
He had lost a man that day. A good man. Despite everything, despite the years of experience, the training, the grit, sometimes it wasn't enough. Sometimes, life just slipped away. And it haunted him—every death, every failure.
The radio had been on, though he couldn't remember what it had been playing. Some news report, something about politics, war… always war. The rain beat against the car, drowning out everything, pulling him deeper into his thoughts.
Then, out of nowhere—a flash of lights.
Leon had barely a second to react. The truck had appeared out of the storm, careening toward him at an impossible speed, headlights blinding him. He slammed the brakes, but the road was slick, and the tires skidded, the car spinning out of control. There was a deafening crash—a bone-jarring impact as metal twisted and shattered around him.
Pain. Searing, immediate. His chest crushed under the weight of the dashboard, his vision blurred by blood and darkness. His breath came in short, shallow gasps as the world tilted on its axis. He could hear the rain still, pounding against the mangled car, mixing with the distant sound of sirens.
He knew then. This was it.
His life didn't flash before his eyes, like people always said. There were no grand revelations, no regrets, no last-minute epiphanies. Just pain and an overwhelming sense of finality. He had saved lives, done what he could with the time he was given. And now, it was over.
But it wasn't.
Because when Leon opened his eyes again, he wasn't surrounded by the twisted wreckage of his car, or the blinding lights of an emergency room. There were no doctors, no machines, no sterile hospital smell.
Instead, he found himself here—in this cold, miserable world, his body weak, chained, and broken. The pain was still there, gnawing at his bones, but it was different now. It wasn't the aftermath of a car crash, but the brutal reality of this new life. A life of slavery.
Leon had no explanation for it. No reason for why he had been torn from one world and thrown into another. There had been no voices, no gods, no grand purpose handed down to him. Just the raw, unrelenting truth that he was no longer in the world he knew.
And here, there was no honor in saving lives. No battlefield glory, no sense of duty. Just survival, day by day.
He remembered the first time he had woken up in this place, his muscles screaming in agony, his wrists and ankles bound in iron. He had thought it was some nightmare, that his mind had finally snapped after years of stress and violence. But the cold, the hunger, the pain—it was too real. Too vivid.
This was his reality now. A world of cruelty and chains, where his skills as a doctor meant nothing, and his only value was as a tool for labor.
---
Leon's eyes fluttered open, the dull ache of his body bringing him back to the present. The darkness of the cell was suffocating, but his mind was clearer now, sharper. He had been taken from everything he knew, dropped into a world that operated by its own brutal rules.
But as his hands flexed against the chains, as his mind began to churn with thought after thought, plan after plan, one thing became clear.
He had been a doctor, a soldier, a man who had followed orders his whole life. But now? Now, he was something else.
He was a survivor.
And in this world, that was the only thing that mattered.