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​Kane wasn't seeking peace, he was seeking silence. His time as a Green Beret was defined by complex missions in volatile regions, where his expertise in medicine and tactical deployment saved countless lives. The end of his service came not from retirement, but from a profound moral injury, a catastrophic mission that left him feeling responsible for civilian casualties. He sought out the most remote, brutal environment he could find, a place where the challenges were purely physical and moral choices were simple, survive or die. The deep winter had settled in, the passes sealed with meters of snow, and Kane was content in his solitary rhythm. Then, the snowmobile arrived. ​It was driven by "Ghost," a name from Kane's past, a former contact who knew the price of anonymity. Ghost didn't stop for greetings, he barely killed the engine before pulling a single, heavily bundled figure from the sled. ​The figure, the protected 'Witness', was clearly injured, moving with a noticeable limp. Ghost did not explain, he just met Kane's gaze with the cold certainty of a man who knows his time is up. ​"They're coming, Kane. The whole damn organization. They saw the crash, they're on the trail. This is the package. You're the only sanctuary left." ​Before Kane could demand an explanation, Ghost was gone, accelerating the snowmobile back into the blizzard, a final act of sacrifice. ​Kane was left on the wind-whipped porch of his cabin, the snow already beginning to cover the track marks. Beside him stood the Witness, injured, exhausted, and carrying secrets that could bring down a powerful organisation. His isolation was over. His duty had returned.