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The camera angle was wrong. It wasn't a movie set anymore. It was a POV shot—shaky, handheld. A man in a muddy British Army combat jacket was running through a pine forest. Not an actor. Real terror in his eyes. Behind him, the sound of branches snapping. Not animals. Footsteps. Heavy, measured, metallic.
The man tripped. The camera—a body cam, Marcus realized—pointed up at the grey sky. A shape stepped into frame. A Roman centurion. Not an extra in a costume. The armor was dented, stained with something darker than rust. The helmet’s visor was raised. Where a face should have been, there was only a void of absolute black, like a hole cut out of the universe.
Back at the station, they loaded the file. It opened like any other media player. Grainy, high-contrast video. A title card faded in: Centurion . Then a scene of rain-lashed Scottish highlands. Roman soldiers, breath fogging, shields locked. It was the opening battle from the 2010 film. Marcus fast-forwarded. Spears. Blood. A chase. Nothing unusual.