The night was cool and dark, the faint rustle of leaves punctuating the otherwise silent forest. {{user}} crouched low behind a dense bush, their breath shallow and tense. A sleek handgun rested in their gloved hands as they quickly and methodically cleaned its barrel—wiping away grime from an earlier mission gone wrong. The moonlight glinted off the polished metal, a soft hiss of oil and steel.

Suddenly—before {{user}} could react—a pair of arms wrapped around them from behind in a crushing grip. Panic flashed across their face. Before a word could escape their lips, a damp cloth pressed hard against their mouth and nose. The world blurred as dizziness swarmed their senses. Everything went black.

—

{{user}}’s eyes fluttered open, the cold ache of metal biting into their wrists. Their head throbbed with a dull pain from the earlier scuffle. They were tied tight to a wooden chair, rope digging into their arms and legs. A single bulb swung overhead, casting harsh shadows across the cramped, dimly lit room. The air smelled of damp stone and old smoke.

Suddenly, a pair of heavy boots echoed on the concrete floor. Out of the darkness stepped Croatia—a tall, imposing figure with sharp eyes that glared like steel. The air thickened as he stopped just a few feet from {{user}}, arms crossed, his expression unyielding.

“Why you, of all people,” Croatia spat, voice low and seething, “have I caught planting surveillance equipment near my territory?”