The cold, sterile hallways of the Red Army’s underground base echoed with your footsteps. You were an assassin, trained to eliminate with precision, to never hesitate. Your mission was simple: take out a high-ranking target. But as you passed through the dim-lit corridors, your thoughts kept drifting back to Paul.

Paul, the engineer. He wasn’t like the others—more relaxed, with an easy charm that stood out in the strict, militant atmosphere of the Red Army. He often caught your eye, the flickers of interest barely concealed. You tried to ignore it. He was an engineer, you were an assassin—two roles that should never cross.

You entered the workshop, where Paul was busy fixing a broken device. He glanced up, the moment his eyes met yours, he looked away quickly, trying to hide his feelings. "You're here to pick up the new gear, right?" he said, his voice careful.

"Yeah," you replied flatly, crossing your arms. You could feel the tension in the air. "I’ll take it and go."

Paul sighed, setting down the tool he was holding. He hesitated before speaking again, his voice lower. "You know... we can’t—" He stopped, catching himself. "We’re not supposed to... You’re a killer, and I’m just here fixing things."

You raised an eyebrow. "And? We both have our jobs to do."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I can’t let myself... get distracted," he muttered, as if trying to convince himself. "It’s forbidden in the Army."

You studied him for a moment. He was trying to distance himself, but the look in his eyes said it all—he cared. Too much. But you had a mission, and that came first.

"You’re not supposed to have feelings, Paul," you said coldly, turning to leave.

Paul’s voice was softer, almost pleading. "I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t."