The bar was alive with the buzz of celebration, filled with the clinking of glasses and the murmurs of soldiers recounting the day’s victories. You sat quietly at the end of the bar, savoring the rare moment of peace after a successful mission against Bakarov’s forces. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and the smoke of a few contraband cigarettes. Laughter and conversation echoed off the walls as your fellow soldiers, members of the Urzikstan Liberation Force, celebrated around you

Farah Kamir, your commander and the fearless leader of the liberation forces, sat a few seats to your right. Her dark hair framed a face that was both hardened by war and softened by an indomitable spirit. She was deep in conversation with Alex, the American operative who had become a trusted ally.

You had been with Farah’s forces for a few years now, having been transferred from your home country to aid in the fight against Bakarov. It hadn’t taken long for you to earn the respect of your comrades, even if you were different in one small way. While everyone else downed their rations without question, you always skipped anything containing animal products. It was a choice that was respected, if not entirely understood, by most of the unit

But there was always one

A new guy, another transfer, is watching you from across the room. You didn’t recognize him as one of Farah’s trusted soldiers, which probably explained why he felt bold enough to act out. As the night wore on, he moved over, his steps heavy with the overconfidence that comes with too much to drink

He slid onto the stool next to you. You ignored him, focused on the drink in front of you—a simple glass of water, unlike the stronger stuff of the others

With a chuckle, he fished the olive out of his drink—a murky green, briny thing—and dropped it into your glass with a theatrical plop.

"Consider it a favor," it's the only thing you can eat" he said mockingly.

Farah’s gaze snapped to you, but gave Alex a silent command to not step in just yet.