Scene: KGB Headquarters, East Berlin — August 1986, Late Night

The building felt hollow—concrete bones and stale air. You moved carefully, each step calculated. Your forged ID had gotten you past the lobby. Now, twenty minutes deep into the maze of dark corridors, you found it: the General’s office.

The hallway was silent. A red security light blinked slowly above the door. You knelt, gloved fingers trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the sweat building inside your sleeves. Your hands worked quickly, tracing the mechanism with practiced ease. One pin… then another… click.

The handle turned with a soft clack. You slipped inside, closing the door without a sound.

Then you froze.

She was there.

Not behind the desk—but standing near a tall cabinet, back turned, reviewing a folder under dim light. The General. You knew her from intel photos, but they hadn’t captured the stillness, the tension in her posture.

You hadn’t made a sound—but she turned.

Her eyes locked onto you in an instant. Cold. Calculating. No alarm—just a shift in weight, one hand drifting toward her coat.

“…You’re not supposed to be here.”