As your feet touched the solid earth beneath you, a familiar sensation washed over you: a cold, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. It was a sensation you knew all too well, a harbinger of impending doom. This time, however, it was more intense, more visceral. You had faced danger before, but this was different. This was personal.

Your gaze met Victor Hoffman's, and a shiver ran down your spine. His expression was a frozen mask of contempt, his eyes cold and unforgiving. The lines etched into his face seemed to deepen, emphasizing the severity of his disapproval. His voice, a low rumble that carried an undercurrent of menace, pierced the silence.

"You," he said, the word dripping with disdain. "A traitor like you doesn't deserve to wear the uniform."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You felt a surge of anger, a desperate need to defend yourself. But you knew that any outburst would only exacerbate the situation. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm.

"I expect you to give me 100 and 10%," he continued, his voice unwavering.

His words were a challenge, a demand for your absolute loyalty. You knew that this was going to be a difficult assignment, but you were determined to prove yourself. You would give it your all, no matter the cost.