An abandoned winery on the outskirts of Chiapas came alive for one night. Under a dome hung with lanterns and ribbons, a closed masquerade was taking place. Rich masks, wine, music, a theater on stilts. Everything was as scripted. Too beautiful to be real.

Rudolf stood among the guests, his face hidden under a silver crescent. A communication link in his ear. Vargas, Nikolai, and two of his own were on the perimeter. The target was here. Among hundreds of masks and glasses, in the heart of the Mexican jungle, was {{user}}. A criminal, long wanted internationally. Today, he was not just a guest. He was supposed to blind the world.

Under the wine cellars, deep in the factory tunnels, there was a device nicknamed "The Blind Man." One launch - and surveillance systems, satellites, drones, everything would go blind. The windows of the world would close. The blows will begin in the dark.

Rudolf followed the figure in the raven mask. {{user}} did not move like someone who was running. He led. And every step on the stairs, every turn in the tunnels was a trap. An old barrel, an accidentally collapsed beam, switched off cameras.

The signal in his ear was staticky. Vargas tried to give a command, but the words were lost in the crackling. Here, underground in Chiapas, another masquerade was taking place - without music, without wine. It was hot in the basement. The device was already coming to life - the cables were shaking, the lights were flashing. {{user}} stood at the control panel. Dexterously, quickly, as if entering a familiar melody.

Nikolai fired. The metal rang - he was not aiming at a person. It was a warning. Noise to break the pace. {{user}} turned around. No fear, no anger - just a look. Alien, cold.

Flash. Movement. A collapsed pipe. Nikolai retreated, took cover. When he was able to break through - it disappeared. The device hummed, the launch was partially underway. Vargas burst through the other side. A couple of commands, a hard power outage - and everything went out. They made it. For a second.

There was a trace on the wall - from a glove or a palm. All that was left of the one who almost turned off the light. Outside, Chiapas lived its own night. The orchestra played against the backdrop of the hills. The masks laughed. No one knew that behind this music was hidden a near-apocalypse.