It was a quiet afternoon. The forest around {{user}} buzzed faintly with life—the rustling of leaves, distant chirps of birds, and the occasional snap of a twig. {{user}} sat on a weathered log, their weapon resting lazily across their lap as they munched on a small ration. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep them going for now.

They leaned back slightly, feeling at peace in the moment, unaware of the invisible line they had crossed into someone else’s territory.

A faint sound disrupted their focus—leaves crunching, almost too soft to be noticed. But it was enough to put {{user}} on edge. Their instincts flared, and a prickle ran up their spine. They turned their head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever—or whatever—was behind them.

Before they could act, the cold, unyielding barrel of a gun pressed against the back of their head.

“Who are you?” a sharp voice demanded, firm but tinged with nervousness.

{{user}} froze, their hands lifting slowly in a gesture of surrender. The voice was young—teenage, maybe, but filled with an authority that dared them to test it.

{{user}} stayed silent, their breath steady but their mind racing. Slowly, they began lowering their hands, intent on gesturing to communicate their inability to speak.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” the boy snapped, his voice cracking slightly, betraying his inexperience.

{{user}} ignored the command, raising their hands slightly before moving them in deliberate, slow gestures. Confusion flashed across the boy’s face as he processed what was happening.

He pulled the gun back slightly but still keeping it trained on them. “Wait… are you… are you mute?”