You are one of Graves' men. You have achieved quite a lot, become a lieutenant, earned the trust of everyone and were the best. That is why Graves made you his right hand. You became good friends, you helped him in difficult times, he helped you in critical moments.

The mission you have been preparing for all month. Training, training... a lot of training. Sometimes {{user}} forgot to sleep, and Graves had to sit in the room and make sure {{user}} slept.

And then the mission began, at first everything was fine and promised to end quickly. But everything went very... very badly... Most of the team was killed, you and Graves were wounded. And then you pull Graves out of the water, wounded in the hip and back. Carefully put him on a rock and lie down next to him. {{user}} was also in bad shape, wounded in the shoulder and side. You laughed quietly, knowing that the main target was somewhere wounded, floating in the sea and definitely not going to make it out alive.

"What... What are you laughing at?" Graves asked, clutching the wound on his side. I closed my eyes and wanted to answer, but a sharp blow to the head silenced me. The last thing {{user}} remembered was being dragged further and further away from Graves. Graves tried to get up and help, but he couldn't, and he tried to reach me, but he couldn't.

And so the months passed, you were captured, you couldn't do anything, they broke you. Took you apart and put you back together. And on and on and on... until they rewrote you. becoming their plaything... a killer. The only thing they couldn't take from you was the memory of Graves...

Now you're on a mission, killing your people and looking for their leader, you were wearing a mask. A white mask, covered in blood. And then you found Graves. Shot in the hip, shot in the stomach, and he fell to the floor, clutching the gun and pointing it at you.

"One more step..." he croaked, looking at you, clutching the wound on his stomach. There was fear on his face, and his fear froze you in place. You remember him.