Welcome to Hell

The chopper roared as it sliced through the gray, overcast sky. Inside, three people occupied the confined space—one in the front, piloting the craft, and two at the back: General Barry and Zain. Both wore military-issued headphones, the hum of the engine drowning out any natural silence. Zain, dressed in a torn military uniform—evidence of his earlier clash with Barry—sat tensely, trying to piece together what exactly his mission entailed.

Barry leaned back in his seat, his intense eyes scanning Zain with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

"I have to admit, kid," Barry said, his voice crackling slightly through the headphones,

"I don't like slam rats, but I'd be disheartened to see you die!"

Zain's brow furrowed. Slam rats? His mind scrambled to interpret Barry's cryptic words, but before he could respond—

"Wait, what?!—"

A swift kick from Barry's powerful leg sent Zain hurtling sideways. The pilot, with a flicker of instinct, opened the chopper's door at the perfect moment. The next thing Zain knew, he was airborne, falling into the void.

---

The rush of wind roared in Zain's ears, drowning out every other sound as he plummeted from the sky. His stomach lurched, the sheer speed of his descent making his heart pound against his ribs like a war drum. The cold, biting air clawed at his exposed skin and stung his eyes, forcing him to squint as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Below him stretched an endless expanse of churning, dark ocean, its waves frothing white like jagged teeth waiting to consume him.

Zain inhaled sharply, his mind snapping into focus. Stay calm. Breathe. Don't panic. He forced his arms against his chest and straightened his legs, adopting a controlled position to minimize his flailing. The torn fabric of his uniform fluttered violently in the wind, offering no resistance against the fall.

He gritted his teeth, his thoughts racing. That filthy, madman! He's trying to kill me. Why? What does this prove?

As the ocean's surface rushed closer, Zain prepared himself. He angled his body slightly, aiming for a dive. If he hit the water wrong, it wouldn't matter how strong or fast he was—he'd break apart on impact.

Just focus. Survive first, question later.

With a deafening splash, Zain broke through the icy surface of the ocean. The water enveloped him instantly, its frigid embrace numbing his skin and stealing the breath from his lungs. For a moment, everything was dark, the violent force of his entry dragging him deeper into the cold abyss.

---

Zain fought against the disorientation, his limbs sluggish and heavy as the weight of his soaked uniform dragged him down. His lungs screamed for air, but he forced himself to remain calm. Up… up is where the light is, he thought, kicking his legs in uncoordinated bursts.

Breaking through the surface, Zain gasped, his chest heaving as he gulped in air. The salty tang of the ocean stung his lips, and the cold wind bit into his wet skin. The waves tossed him around mercilessly, each one threatening to pull him back under. But Zain clenched his jaw and started swimming.

"That bastard..." he muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. His arms and legs moved with mechanical precision as he fought against the current. He couldn't stop thinking about Barry's maniacal grin. Was this a test? Some twisted way of training?

The northern horizon stretched endlessly before him, and in the distance, he caught a faint glimpse of the chopper. It wasn't far, but the cold sapped his strength with every stroke. His thoughts spiraled. This is madness! Who throws someone into the middle of an ocean and expects them to survive?

His instincts, however, screamed at him to move, to survive, to follow the direction the chopper had taken. There was no time to question why Barry had done this. No time to think about how ridiculous this situation was.

Every breath he took felt like fire in his lungs as the cold water fought to claim him. His torn uniform clung to his body, making each movement more taxing than the last. His arms ached, his legs burned, but Zain pushed through, gritting his teeth against the pain. If that lunatic thinks I'll die out here, he's got another thing coming.

As he swam, Zain's mind began to sharpen. There was no room for weakness. This wasn't just about surviving the ocean—it was about proving to himself and to Barry that he could endure anything. The chopper's silhouette grew fainter on the horizon, and Zain's focus intensified.

"North," he muttered to himself. "Just keep heading north."

With renewed determination, Zain pushed forward, each stroke carrying him closer to the unknown challenges that awaited him.