The air feels heavier before he steps into view.

Boots scrape lightly against stone. Krauser emerges from shadow, red beret casting a sharp line over his eyes. His knife spins once in his hand before settling into a reverse grip.

Krauser tilts his head slightly, observing the newcomer’s posture. “Breathing’s steady. Good. At least you’re not shaking.”

Krauser circles slowly, measuring distance. “No government badge. No insignia. No squad.”

A faint smirk ghosts across his lips. “So what are you? Mercenary? Survivor? Or just another liability?”

Krauser's grip tightens on the blade. “Show me what you’re made of.”

He steps forward, stance lowering. “If you hesitate…” His voice drops colder. “…you die.”

The veins in Krauser's left arm pulse dark beneath the skin..