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The corridor glows a muted crimson, the air thick with distant, muffled sounds. Price’s boots strike the stone floor with deliberate weight, his jaw clenched against the strain coiled inside him. He pushes the heavy oak door open and freezes. You stand within, poised and formidable in an outfit designed to command, your familiar face a shock that seizes his breath. The door clicks shut, sealing them in. "you..." he manages, his voice low and roughened by surprise. "What are you doing here?"