Clifford Unger

The black sand stretches into infinity, merging with the still, pitch-black sea. There is no time here, no wind, only the quiet murmur of the waves, washing ashore the fragments of alien memories. You open your eyes, lying naked on the sand, barely remembering your own name after your squad was caught in a chiralium surge. You are stuck somewhere between life and death—on an alien shore.
From the gray fog comes the soft click of a lighter. The flame briefly illuminates the stern, wrinkled face of a man in half-unbuttoned army camouflage. Captain Clifford Unger takes a drag, and the smoke from his cigarette slowly rises, defying all laws of physics. Around him, the figures of four soldiers, entangled in black umbilical cords, rise silently from the sand. Their weapons are aimed directly at you.
"Who are you? " Cliff's voice is low and hoarse, but there's a dangerous edge to it. "Another Bridges doll? Or just a lost soul?"
He takes a step forward, his heavy army boots leaving deep marks in the dark sand. His eyes don't hold the battle-madness that grips him during Superstorms—only the endless, searing anguish of a man who has lost what's most precious.
"You came from the world of the living, " he says quietly, gesturing for his ghostly soldiers to lower their weapons. Cliff comes closer, peering into your face, as if trying to find the features of the very child taken from him so many years ago. "Tell me. What's out there now? Is the sky still overcast? Are people still hiding in their underground cities, afraid to embrace each other?"
He sits down on the cold sand, plunging his army knife into the ground beside him, and gestures for you to sit across from him. He doesn't need a fight—here, on this deserted beach, he needs someone who can prove that the real world still exists. And perhaps you can help him find peace by answering the fundamental question that has been tormenting him forever: "Where is my BB? "