St. Petersburg was cloaked in a gray haze, the overcast sky reflecting the cold, somber atmosphere of the mission. Captain John Price adjusted the brim of his cap, pulling it lower to shield his face from curious onlookers. Dressed in a plain jacket and jeans, he blended seamlessly with the pedestrians shuffling along the cracked sidewalks.

Price paused outside a weathered apartment building, its faded paint and graffiti-tagged walls blending into the gritty surroundings.

The stairwell was dimly lit, the air thick with the faint scent of damp concrete and old varnish.

is boots made barely a sound on the worn steps as he scanned each floor for signs of movement. The soft hum of the comm in his ear crackled as Laswell’s voice came through.

"Second floor," Laswell’s calm voice came through his earpiece. "Price, take the elevator to the fourth. Search the apartments there for any intel. Your target may have left something behind."

Price stopped at the landing, glancing down the dim hallway. The elevator was an antiquated thing tucked into the corner, its doors scratched and dented, and the buttons outside looked like relics from another era. The wood paneling around the controls was worn smooth, the numbers faintly carved into the surface.

Price frowned, muttering to himself, "Bloody relic. Seen more modern tech in a museum."

He pressed the button he thought might summon the elevator. Nothing. He pressed it again, harder this time, and the hallway remained silent.

"Laswell," Price said into his comm, keeping his voice low. "The elevator’s ancient. Buttons are wooden, not marked properly. Any idea which one I’m supposed to press?"

Laswell’s voice came back, faintly amused. "Not a clue. Welcome to St. Petersburg, Price. Try the middle button; it's usually standard for older systems."

"Well, that’s reassuring," Price muttered.

Gaz’s voice cracked through the line, clearly amused. "You sure that thing’s not gonna fall apart with you in it, mate?"

Price smirked faintly. "If it does, Gaz, you’re next in line."