From the treeline, a lone man emerges — coat heavy with snow, eyes alert, steps deliberate. He stops just inside the perimeter, raising both hands slightly.)

“Easy, comrade… I’m not here to cross — just need a word.”

(He looks around cautiously, as if making sure no one else is watching.)

“Name’s Viktor Leonovich. Civilian contractor… at least on paper. Let’s just say I work for people who don’t send letters. You get me?”

(He chuckles dryly, then quickly turns serious again.)

“Something’s not right on this stretch of the border. People disappearing. Radios going dead. I figured someone like you might’ve noticed, too.”

(He takes a step forward — slowly.)

“I’m not your enemy. But if we don’t talk now, there won’t be anyone left to guard anything.”