The trio rode through the dense forest trail, the mood unusually calm. Even Jake was quiet—mostly because he was trying to balance his hat and gun without falling off Arthur's horse.
John's voice broke the silence. "You hear that?"
Arthur held up a hand. The forest had gone still—too still.
Jake looked around. "Okay, that's definitely the 'quiet before the murder' silence."
Then came the cry.
A woman's scream echoed through the trees—desperate, cracked with pain. Jake snapped his head toward the sound. "That's either someone in trouble… or the worst bait trap since that one time I clicked on a 'You won a free iPhone' link."
Arthur scowled. "Stay close."
They urged the horses forward, the trail narrowing. The scream came again, closer now—followed by rustling bushes.
Jake muttered, "Yep. This is where characters die in horror movies."
Suddenly, a blur darted from the treeline.
Then another.
Then six.
Figures cloaked in mud, feathers, and madness burst from the foliage. Painted faces. Silent eyes. Knives glinting.
Arthur drew fast. "AMBUSH!"
Steel flashed. Gunfire cracked. John shouted as two of the knife-wielders leapt toward him, dodging like ghosts.
Jake hit the dirt—literally. He rolled under a fallen log, yelling, "I am not getting stabbed by forest ninjas!"
A masked attacker lunged over the log. Jake kicked him in the face with both feet, screaming, "I AM TOO HANDSOME TO DIE LIKE THIS!"
Arthur fired again. One down. Then two. John elbowed a savage off his back and crushed another against a tree trunk. Blood sprayed. The ambush unraveled into a brutal melee.
But Jake didn't see it all—because in the chaos, the screaming and flashing steel sent his mind somewhere else.
Flashback: Amazon Rainforest – 2022
Gunfire. Screams.
Jake ran through thick undergrowth, rifle in hand. Mud splattered his fatigues. Mosquitoes swarmed. His squad moved in tight formation, the night vision painting the world in green ghosts.
"Red Viper, move up!" shouted Sgt. Morales.
"I see movement! Left tree line!" yelled Clarke, his heavy gun mowing down shadows.
Jake pressed against a trunk, breathing hard.
"Jake, with me! On three!"
They charged. A flashbang flew.
Boom.
Then came the scream—different this time. One of their own.
"Where's Kendrick?!"
"He's hit! Jesus, they flanked us!"
"Fall back! FALL—"
BOOM.
A grenade exploded, engulfing Jake's world in light and heat. His ears rang. His body lifted from the ground like a ragdoll.
Then—
Darkness.
Army Medical Room – Later
A faint beep. Then voices.
"…he made it out. Burned bad. Concussion, too."
"Whole squad… gone."
Jake opened his eyes slowly. White lights. Sterile walls. A clipboard at the foot of the bed.
"…You're lucky, Private," said a man in uniform beside him. "You were the only one we found breathing."
Jake blinked. "Where—where the hell am I?"
"Fort Bragg. You've been out for three days. You lost your team."
Jake looked at his hands. Burnt. Bandaged.
"I should've died with them."
The officer didn't reply. Just placed a hand on his shoulder and walked away.
Jake stared at the ceiling.
Something inside him broke. Or maybe it just finally showed.
Back to the Forest – 1899
Jake jolted back into the present as another attacker crawled toward him. But this time, he didn't scream.
He grabbed a rock.
The masked man lunged.
Jake smashed it into his skull—once. Twice. A third time.
Then he stood, panting.
Arthur turned, reloading. "Jake! You alive?"
Jake stepped into view, face pale, eyes stormy. "Yeah… I'm alive."
"Then get over here and help, dammit!"
Jake took the fallen man's knife and muttered, "Let's go full Rambo."
He charged forward.