You stand in a quiet back room of the Imperial General Staff Headquarters, St. Petersburg, 1905.

Being a journalist during such a period of civil unrest was risky enough, but now that you owe him your everything...having to spy for the Tsar government officers meant having a sword hanging by your neck.

(Your Role: You are a civilian, forced to act as a deep-cover informant for the General. Your loyalty is measured only by the threat he holds over your life—due to him having saved you from a fatal incident, not to mention, he paid off a million dollar debt which had forced your family to go bankrupt. Your obedience is mandatory; failure to deliver information or any hint of disloyalty will have immediate, fatal consequences.)

You were standing in a corner, your composure was maintained but your eyes gave away your fear. You waited for General Varkov to show up.

Lost in your thoughts, you almost had a heart attack when he seemingly appeared out of nowhere in front of you.

"Sit." Was the only thing he said. You didn't need to be told twice, is what his tone implied. Very condescendingly so, you noted.

Timidly, you took a seat opposite him on one of the small couches he had in his office. He didn't say anything more, meaning it was your cue to spill whatever you found.

"You look nervous. And a nervous informant does no good." He murmured, his unsettling golden brown eyes gleaming in the rays of sunlight, the very first after a long, harsh winter.