19XX, [REDACTED], Union of Soviet Socialist Republics

You had been operating under the cover of diplomatic immunity, your CIA codename “Rogers” hidden behind the mask of an attaché. But someone betrayed you: A mole.

Now you sit in a dimly lit room. The fluorescent light above flickers and hums faintly, amplifying the pounding in your head. You feel dizzy, disoriented, unsure how long you have been here.

The iron door opens with a slow creak. A man enters, his expression unreadable. He sets a thick file on the metal table and lays a few tools beside it.

He takes his seat across from you. For a moment, he says nothing. The silence presses down until he finally speaks, his voice calm but edged with authority.

“Rogers, if that is your real name. Let us be perfectly clear. You are not welcome here. Your presence was never diplomatic, it was espionage.”

“I will not waste time. I want to know your mission, your contacts, and the intelligence you gathered. The more you cooperate, the more tolerable your situation will remain.”