Lucy Chen is in the army, mirroring Tim Bradford's experience

The rescue

The world was spinning, a blur of pain and confusion. Lucy's body felt disconnected from her mind, like a puppet with its strings cut. The drugs had pulled her under, dragging her into a dark, suffocating abyss where reality and nightmare mingled together. She was drowning in it—memories and fear swirling in a chaotic storm as the walls of her mind crumbled around her.

She had lost track of how many times they had injected her, how many times they had asked the same questions. Her lips had moved, but she wasn't sure what she had said. Had she told them anything? Had she given away the mission? She didn't know anymore.

Voices echoed around her, distorted and distant. The officer's cold, sharp commands. The guards' rough handling. Her own ragged breathing, her pulse racing in her ears. She had no sense of time, no way to distinguish one moment from the next. Everything was a blur of pain and helplessness.

But somewhere, deep inside, Lucy knew she couldn't give up. Even as her body betrayed her, even as her mind faltered under the weight of the torture, she clung to a single, fragile hope.

They're coming for me.

The thought had rooted itself in her mind early on, a beacon in the darkness. She couldn't explain why she believed it so fiercely—maybe it was her training, maybe it was instinct—but she had held onto it through the worst of her ordeal. Her team would come for her. Tim, Angela, Nyla. They wouldn't leave her behind.

But now, after endless days of torment, that hope was flickering, dimming like a dying flame.

The guards dragged her back to the cell, her limbs heavy and uncooperative as they dropped her onto the cold floor. She lay there, unable to move, her mind clouded and sluggish from the latest round of drugs. The door clanged shut behind her, leaving her alone in the darkness once more.

Lucy's breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. Her vision swam, but she forced herself to focus. She couldn't let go. Not yet.

Suddenly, a sound cut through the haze—a faint, muffled noise that didn't belong in this place. It was distant at first, barely noticeable over the pounding in her head, but it grew louder, sharper, until it was unmistakable.

Gunfire.

Lucy's heart lurched in her chest. The rapid staccato of gunfire echoed down the corridor, followed by shouts and the heavy thud of boots on stone. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, trying to understand what was happening.

Could it be? Was it possible?

The cell door rattled violently, and for a brief moment, Lucy's mind flashed with fear. More torture? More guards coming to drag her back for another session? But the gunfire, the shouts—they weren't normal.

The door burst open, and a figure stepped into the dim light. At first, Lucy couldn't make out who it was, her vision still blurred from the drugs. But then she heard the voice.

"Chen!"

It was Tim.

Her heart soared and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She wasn't sure if it was real, if she was dreaming, but she didn't care. The sound of his voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the fog in her mind like a lifeline.

Tim was by her side in an instant, his hands moving quickly to check her injuries. His face was grim, his jaw clenched, but there was a flicker of relief in his eyes when he saw that she was alive.

"Lucy, can you hear me?" His voice was steady, but there was a tightness to it, a barely restrained urgency. "We're getting you out of here."

She blinked up at him, her body too weak to respond, but she managed a slight nod. Tim's hand rested briefly on her shoulder, a silent reassurance, before he barked orders into his comms.

"Chen is secured. I need medical evac now!"

The chaos outside the cell continued—more gunfire, more shouting—but all of it seemed distant to Lucy. She focused on Tim, on the steady presence of her training officer, her friend. He had come for her. They had come for her.

Moments later, Angela appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide with concern as she took in the sight of Lucy lying on the ground. "Holy hell, Lucy," she whispered, kneeling beside her. "We thought we lost you."

Lucy tried to speak, but her voice was barely a rasp. "I... I didn't tell them... anything."

Angela's eyes softened, and she gave a small, reassuring smile. "We know. You did good, Lucy. You held on."

Tim and Angela worked quickly, carefully lifting her onto a stretcher as the sounds of the firefight faded into the background. Lucy's head lolled to one side, her body limp with exhaustion, but she felt a warmth spreading through her chest. She wasn't alone anymore. They were here.

As they carried her through the narrow corridors, Lucy caught glimpses of the aftermath. The facility was in shambles—bodies of enemy soldiers littered the ground, smoke billowing from downed machinery. Her team had torn through the place like a storm, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. And now, they were getting her out.

The bright light of the outside world hit her like a wall, and for the first time in what felt like years, Lucy breathed in fresh air. The sun was just beginning to rise, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange. It was beautiful, a stark contrast to the horror she had endured.

They loaded her onto a waiting helicopter, and as the rotors whirred to life, Lucy allowed herself to relax, her body sinking into the stretcher. She could feel the warmth of Tim and Angela's presence nearby, could hear the comforting hum of the helicopter as it lifted off the ground.

The rescue was over, but Lucy knew the real battle had just begun.

Weeks later, Lucy sat in the hospital recovery room, staring blankly at the sterile white walls. She was physically healing, her broken ribs mending, the bruises fading. But the nightmares still clung to her, the memories of the torture and the drugs haunting her every time she closed her eyes.

The doctors had said it would take time. That trauma didn't fade overnight. Tim and Angela visited her regularly, trying to distract her with stories of the latest mission gossip or silly antics from the precinct. They were trying to bring her back to the person she was before.

But Lucy wasn't sure if that person still existed.

She had survived. She had held out. But there was a part of her that had been left in that cell, a part that the drugs and the torture had chipped away at. She felt hollow sometimes, like a shell of the soldier she used to be.

A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to see Tim standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Hey," he said, his voice gentle. "How are you doing?"

Lucy shrugged, giving him a small, tired smile. "I'm getting there."

Tim stepped inside, sitting down in the chair beside her bed. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Tim's hand rested on her arm, a quiet gesture of support.

"You did good, Chen," he said quietly. "You fought hard. You didn't break."

Lucy met his gaze, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and pain. "I felt like I was going to," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I almost gave up."

"But you didn't," Tim said firmly. "That's what matters."

Lucy nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. She wasn't the same person she had been before her capture. She had been through hell and back. But she had survived.

And now, with her team by her side, she knew she could start the long journey of healing.