* I loved Joseph Gordon-Levitt as the Cobra Commander, and so I'm writing this little fic about him. Hope you like it! IT WON'T BE MULTI-CHAPTERED. READ AND REVIEW!

Rex saw the researcher close the door and he called out, heart nearly stopping,

"No! Don't shut that!"

He looked around, sweat seeping down his forehead from just beneath his dark hair. His breaths came in sharply, and he was quite honestly on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. He was now trapped in here and an airstrike was on the way. The researcher looked at him and yelled over the sounds of destruction,

"If we both survive I'll share all of this with you!"

Rex nodded in understanding. He didn't want to die. But he knew it was a risk he'd have to take. He didn't want to feel the pain he knew was going to come along with the explosion, but he had to let it happen, and had to hold through. He didn't realize then, upon agreeing to that deal with the researcher what he would become. Who he would hurt. Who he would kill.

He sat down in the corner of the room, shaking, he didn't want to die, but he had known his risks. The researcher stood there, looking awkward. Well what does one do when they know an airstrike is about to hit. All they could do was wait. Rex had no problem at all at this point showing his fear to a complete stranger, he wasn't at all concerned what anyone thought at the moment.

He gripped the side of a desk, so hard that the old, unstable wood, broke off at the edge.

Then it happened.

The airstrike hit and the explosion shook the ground, everything in the room was toppling over, and he was actually glad when a filing cabinet fell over, hitting him in the head, knocking him out. He was glad because he didn't want to feel the pain, of the fire and the smoke. He laid there on the ground, his eyes closed, as the fire surrounded him, and he was at this point completely oblivious to the damage his injuries would cause.

He opened his eyes hours... or it could've been days later and found himself in a great deal of pain. He had never experienced such agony, nearly ever bone in his body was broken, he had a pretty bad concussion, and his skin was badly burned on his face. He groaned and tried to sit up, but found himself unable to. The very attempt quite literally took the breath from him. He tried desperately to take in any oxygen, but none came.

"There he is. Over there."

The voice was faint, and he could barely hear it because of the volume of the ringing in his ears. He heard even fainter footsteps approaching, and then more voices.

"Dear God, it's a wonder how he's still alive!"

"Just get the damn mask!"

Rex felt something cool, and plastic being pressed over his mouth and nose. He was instantly able to breathe again. He sucked in air, breathing in as much as he could. One voice then spoke directly to him.

"Can you hear me?"

He wanted to respond, to let them know he could, and so taking in more oxygen he said in a raspy, croak, so weak he didn't recognize it as his own.

"Yes." The energy it took to say even a simple, one-syllable word drained him.

"Stay with us here, we're going to help you."

He wanted to oblige, after all they were trying to help him. But he couldn't. Pain had taken over him and he fell into a deep unconsciousness again.

He didn't know then what these men wanted. He didn't know what would happen to him. What he would do. Who he would become.