The dusty battlefield stretched before you, abandoned for now. The wind whispered through the cracked concrete, carrying the scent of gunpowder and something metallic—blood, probably.

You were alone.

Or so you thought.

A flicker of movement in the corner of your eye made you turn, but there was nothing there. Then—

"Ah, mon ami… tres intéressant."

The voice was smooth as silk, dangerously close behind you.

You spun around, but there was still no one there.

A soft chuckle echoed in the empty space, and then, as if emerging from thin air, a man materialized right before your eyes. A dark suit, a red tie, a cigarette perched elegantly between gloved fingers.

He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his piercing eyes scanning you with the kind of look that made you feel like a particularly amusing puzzle.

"And what, exactly, are you doing here, hm?" His voice dripped with amusement, but there was something sharper beneath it.