Five, ten, twenty, the enemies seemed to increase in every second, eliciting a frustrated groan from his lips.

Felix 'Vessels' Maynard, a field agent who was supposed to complete his mission to kill a single target, was instead being chased by dozens of enemies.

He did a press check, his irritation rising as he realized he was running low on ammunition, and yet his steps were unwavering as he strode through the night, weaving through gaps and shadows to lose his trail.

Hearing their beginning distant footsteps and seeing a sharp turn, he quickened his pace—crashed.

His gun fell beside him, the 'CB' engraved on the metal gleaming in the moonlight. His hand immediately went to his spinning head, his sight blurring for a moment before he realized he had crashed into someone.

Instantly, he reached for his gun, his eyes narrowing.

But he noticed you, and judging by the symbol on your uniform, you were a member of Black Poker, NC-10, a field agent.

"What... What the hell are you doing here?!"