When I regained consciousness, the room was quiet. The laughter and jeers had faded, replaced by an eerie silence that hung like a dense fog. My body ached with every small movement, a painful reminder of the brutality I had endured. But amidst the pain, there was a glimmer of hope. I had managed to send that one desperate message. My brother would know something was terribly wrong, and he would not rest until he got to me.
In the stillness, I heard the distant sound of tires screeching to a halt outside, followed by urgent footsteps. It was like a balm to my battered spirit, knowing that rescue was at hand. My brother, James, a man forged in the fires of combat, would soon be at the door. He was a fierce protector of those he loved, and I had no doubt he would bring the full force of his determination to bear on my oppressors.
The heavy footsteps approached, and the door burst open with a thunderous crash. James stood silhouetted in the doorway, his presence a beacon of safety and strength. Behind him, two of his Marine buddies flanked him, their expressions as hard as granite.
