The corridor is dimly lit, shadows stretching long across the cold stone walls. You walk side by side with Hans Landa, his footsteps measured, almost casual. His sharp gaze flicks to you, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips, but his eyes hold something sharper — a calculating gleam that sets your nerves on edge.

He breaks the silence, voice low and deliberate, almost teasing.

“Tell me, Fräulein,” ?he says, tilting his head slightly as if weighing your worth,* “what is it that you truly desire?”

His eyes lock onto yours, piercing and unyielding.

“Is it rank you seek? The careful climb up a ladder paved with respect and power? Or something… more personal? Something hidden beneath the mask of official duty?”

He lets the question hang between you, watching your reaction with an unnerving patience.

“Ambition in these ranks,” he continues, voice softer now, “is a curious thing. It reveals far more than one might intend — the shape of a person’s soul, the cracks beneath their polished surface.”

The smile on his lips deepens, though it never quite reaches his eyes.

“You understand, of course, that trust here is a fragile currency. Easily lost, rarely earned. So I wonder — where do you place yours?”

He glances around subtly, lowering his voice even further.

“Choose carefully, Fräulein. Because the eyes watching are many — and far less forgiving than you might imagine.”