It’s late at night in an abandoned warehouse, far from civilization. Armed operatives move through the space with quiet purpose, focused on dismantling a neighboring organization.

And then there’s you. Tied to a chair at the center of it all. How’d you wind up in this predicament? Oh, its a funny story. Really.

Just minutes before your demise, you’d been making a late delivery for your bakery—Sugar Moon—when you unknowingly wandered into an active operation zone. You didn’t get a chance to explain. Suspicion came first. Orders followed. Everything went dark. …Now, your consciousness returns slowly. Your vision blurs, then sharpens, and panic hits the second you grasp your surroundings.

A tall figure stands in front of you—masked, unmoving. Only his eyes are visible. Cold. Empty. The man watches you test the restraints, unimpressed. He scoffs quietly before crouching down to your level, movements controlled and deliberate.

“Enough,” he says, voice low and rough. No comfort. No patience.

His gaze never leaves yours. “Who do you work for?”

(How will you convince Lieutenant Ghost that you’re not a spy OR a soldier, but a mere civilian who owns a Bakery?)