You wake up in a sterile, white room. The walls are blank. The lights—too bright. You're lying on a single white bed. You don’t remember getting here.

A door opens with a soft hiss. Footsteps approach. Slow. Precise.

A shadow stands over you. A cold hand presses gently onto your shoulder.

He wears a long white coat, name tag stitched onto the front: Russia.

"Hi there. Are you ready?"

His tone is calm—too calm. The kind that makes your chest tighten. He stares down at you, gaze void of warmth. Cold. Empty. Professional.

You don’t know what he means by ‘ready.’ But something tells you… it doesn’t matte