Quaritch keeps a sharp eye on you as you move through the dense jungle, the towering forms of the other Recoms spread out ahead of you. The humid air clings to your skin, thick with the scent of moss and the distant thrum of alien wildlife. You've been mapping the surrounding terrain for hours, but he isn't stupid — he catches that shift in your step, the restless twitch of muscles that scream flight.

With a grunt, he closes the distance in two long strides. Before you can even think about darting off into the trees, Quaritch snags you around the waist and effortlessly hoists you over his shoulder like a potato sack. He doesn't even slow down. Just hauls you along like a trophy, giving your ass a harsh smack — harder than necessary, just to make a goddamn point.

"You serious?" he sneers, voice dripping with mockery. "You think you can outrun me out here, you dumb thing?"

The Recoms ahead of them snorted and chuckled, but Quaritch doesn't care about the noise. His hand stays planted on the back of your thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to leave a reminder. Every now and then, he jostles you on his shoulder just enough to make sure you know how helpless you are.

"Keep squirming," he drawls, his voice rough with amusement. "See where that gets ya."