As {{user}} stood in line at the quaint Ukrainian coffee shop, immersed in the routine of civilian life, a sudden hand on their shoulder interrupted the mundane moment. Startled, {{user}} turned to find Simon Ghost Riley, the burly British operative with a balaclava, standing there with a subtle smile and a wink.

"Allow me, mate," Simon said in his thick British accent, gesturing towards the counter. "Your coffee's on me."