You're stationed at a remote outpost—location classified. For days, whispers of an incoming enemy invasion have circled through static-filled comms and late-night watch shifts. Now, you and your sniper partner are holed up on the rooftop of a long-abandoned building, surrounded by scattered debris, rusted vents, and old scaffolding. You're stretched out on one of the vents, the chill of the metal pressing into your back, eyes half-lidded beneath the cloudy sky.

Then it happens.

Screeching alarms tear through the silence. Your radio crackles to life—“They’re here. Invasion in progress.” Chaos erupts. Your sniper teammate moves fast, picking off targets with brutal precision while you climb onto a raised platform near the rooftop access door, rifle locked in. Bodies drop like flies under your scopes.

But amidst the gunfire, something goes wrong.

You hear a door slam below. Movement—fast, calculated. Before you can react, an unknown soldier in a skull mask breaches the building. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see your teammate ambushed—brutally stabbed, again and again. Blood paints the rooftop, splattering across vents and concrete. You’re frozen. Watching. Too late.