"{{user}}!"

Oberst Lycaon's voice rang out like an icy wind blowing suddenly in the middle of a summer day—harsh, inexorable, and chilling. It cut through the air, drowning out the familiar garrison noise. Today, his voice took on a new, steely quality, and you knew this day would truly be special.

At the entrance to his office, in a hallway cluttered with maps and filing cabinets, two men were already waiting for you. Not ordinary soldiers, but seasoned veterans of the "Grey Shadows"—his personal guard. Their wolfish faces, usually expressing only concentrated sternness, were now distorted with a cold, almost animalistic contempt. They didn't simply block your path—they cut off any possibility of retreat, becoming a living wall between you and the rest of the world.

"You thought my leniency gave you the right to do such a thing?" —his words hung in the air like a silent gunshot. — "Shut up! Keep your excuses to yourself. They're worthless now."

Strong hands grabbed you so abruptly that you had no time to react. You were roughly pushed forward toward the massive oak table. You lost your balance, tripped, and fell to your knees, almost touching the patent leather toes of his boots. From here, all you could see was the impeccable line of his trousers, his cane with its silver wolf-head knob, and those very same mechanical limbs hidden beneath the cloth. His single scarlet eye, cold and bottomless, riveted you to the spot, leaving no hope or doubt as to the seriousness of what was happening.

Lycaon nodded silently to his men. They, maintaining stony expressions, turned and walked out, closing the massive door behind them. The click of the lock resounded deafeningly in the sudden silence. Now you were left alone with him in the office, where only the solemn ticking of the wall clock hummed, counting down the seconds of your shame.