"What's your name?!" the man yells.

"Samir Ghali," another answers, his voice barely a whisper.

Predator's sight reveals five people underground; one of them is wounded and tied to a chair.

Passing along an opened crate, Ethan sees packets of black paste wrapped in plastic film. An idea sparks in his mind, and he looks around for a coffee maker. There is one in the room with a half-full carafe, along with a few other cooking utensils. Ethan subtilizes a pack of opium, hides his haversack along the crate, and walks to the improvised kitchen.

He pours himself a large cup of coffee and drinks it in a single sip. "Long night? Give me one too," one of the men in the room asks.

Ethan empties the rest into a second cup and hands it to the man. The carafe emptied; he places a new filter and fills the bottom with opium before topping it off with a copious amount of coffee.

The machine drips slowly. The man who finishes his coffee sits above a disassembled AKM, visibly confused.

Ethan sits in front of him and begins to reassemble the rifle.

"Why the sunglasses?" the man asks.

Ethan lifts them for an instant, revealing profound dark rings under his eyes. He squints his eyes, mimicking pain from the room's lights, and hides them back.

"Adding the Sabotage skill. Based on your previous experience a level of 41 has been applied," the voice announces as Ethan places the assembled AKM on the table.

The man inspects his weapon, sliding the bolt and dry-firing several times before loading a magazine. "Thanks," he says.

Another man's phone rings. He picks up and puts his phone on speaker. The room fills with the muffled voice of the caller, the sound echoing slightly. "Status report," the voice demands, its tone clipped and authoritative.

The man with the phone straightens, his expression turning serious. "All clear on our end. We're ready for your arrival," he reports, glancing around the room, his eyes lingering on Ethan for a moment before moving away.

"Good," the caller responds. "We'll be there in half an hour. Order everyone to recheck the entire farm."

As the call ends, the room falls into a tense silence. The men begin to prepare themselves, checking their weapons and gathering their gear. They're clearly expecting someone or something important.

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As the four men exit the building, the last of them looks back at Ethan. "You coming?" he asks.

Ethan moves to the coffee maker and explains, "Just making myself another cup, or I'll fall asleep." He morphs his voice to mimic that of his victim, capitalizing on the brewer noise to hide the differences.

"Adding the Mimicry skill. Based on your previous experience a level of 41 has been applied."

The man disappears outside with a grunt of disapproval. Ethan pours four cups with sugar cubes and places them on a tray. Keeping his steps quiet, he takes back his haversack and moves downstairs. A closed door waits for him at the bottom of the staircase. The underground appears to have been dug and barely reinforced.

One of his keys bears the same brand name as the lock. The door opens, and he enters a room filled with torture instruments. Three men are watching, their backs against walls, as the last of them punches a tied-up Specter nine.

Seeing Ethan's plate, they quickly go to him to take a cup. Still near the door, he silently locks it. He waits for all of them to take a few sips and says, "Did he say something?"

"Not a word, but his name. He still refuses to open his status," one answers. He drinks his coffee in a few gulps, unable to detect the bitter opium mixed in his coffee.

"Mind if I give it a go?" Ethan says, nodding at the torturer's blistered knuckles.

"Be my guest," the man says.

Ethan glances over their tools, a collection of pliers, knives, saws, torches, and drugs. "Did you drug him yet?" Ethan asks.

"Ecstasy, a few hours ago," one of them answers. He struggles to stand straight, his pupils narrowing with every second.

One of them falls to the ground. Another moves to grapple Ethan, but he tumbles after two steps. The torturer grabs an AKM lying on a wall. Ethan throws a knife at his throat.

The last man standing grabs the wall to keep himself straight. His head sways as he looks around for anything to use as a weapon. "You bastard," he mutters. His eyes cross, and he falls to the ground.

Ethan looks around for any camera or microphone. Certain he isn’t watched, he says, "Specter nine, I'm Reaper five."

Specter nine lifts his head, a smile on his mangled face. "A Reaper, … here to take me to the other side?"

"Not today. Open your mouth." Ethan says. He pours half a healing potion down the man's throat. He cuts the ropes binding him to the chair.

Specter nine quickly stands up, looking at his bruises disappearing in mere instants. Touching his face, he praises, "That's a miracle." He scans the overdosing men and asks, "What did you give them?"

"Their own opium; the lethal dose is one to two grams. And with how much I put in their coffee, they ingested around five," Ethan begins. "Someone important warned them of his arrival. Twenty-five minutes. I heard him through someone's speaker."

Specter nine freezes at the information. He grabs his phone and plays an audio clip. "We got him and his family. Get the material to the farm," the same man says.

"Yeah, him," Ethan confirms. He tosses Specter nine an AKM and a vest from one of the captors. "My car is eight kilometers away across the forest," Ethan says, showing the location on his phone.

"I can't go, not yet," Specter nine begins. "Rafiq Najjar is bringing an engineer to turn nuclear material into dirty bombs. They plan to use them all over Europe."

Ethan tosses his head around, exhaling loudly as frustration fills his mind. "Do you have a plan?" he asks.