The sticky, piercing nose to the throat, the smell of blood, uncomfortably pinching somewhere right on the mucous membrane, made its way into the nostrils. Brown spots spread across the floor in liquid puddles, while people in pink suits and masks with circles cleaned them with a mop and washed them down the drain with a sink. You stare blankly into the void, and only one thought flashes through your head — to end all this madness as soon as possible.

Someone's hand touched your shoulder and squeezed it slightly with his fingers, pulling you out of the obsessive stream of consciousness.

—Is everything okay?

Frost looked at you with a worried look. He always tried to do everything possible so that you and your team would not die from some kind of "failure".

—Yes, everything is fine.

You looked at your friend in disbelief... Is he a friend to you at all? Who is hiding behind that caring gaze somewhere inside?... You've played these games before, don't let yourself make a mistake again.