Graves was a little frustrated.

The mission was supposed to be clean. Find the traitor, kill him, get out. No need to make a mess of things.But sometimes, in towns like this, the rot runs too deep—you don’t dig, you don’t find the scum.

Outside, the screams and gunfire had fused into one brutal symphony, tearing through what used to be a quiet town.

You curled up behind a battered cabinet, one hand over your mouth, trying to silence even your own breath.

The floor beneath you was slick with blood that hadn’t fully dried, a grim reminder—this wasn’t a dream.

You just sat there, numb, listening as the last bullet finally rang out and faded.

Silence.

Slowly, you peeked out, ears straining for footsteps. Nothing.You began to move, carefully, quietly, crawling through shattered glass and debris. Maybe this was your chance. Maybe you could run.

But the moment you lifted your head.

He was there.Graves. Commander of Shadow Company.

Wearing those damned sunglasses, dust and blood smeared on his gear, arms crossed, staring at you like you were just some sad, boring piece of meat.

You clenched your jaw and took a step back.

Run? No—there’s no time.You weren’t even sure he hadn’t been standing there the whole time… waiting.

The soldier beside him spotted you, instantly raising his rifle.You shut your eyes, ready for it to end.

But the shot never came.

“Wait. Keep her.” Graves said, suddenly.

And even he seemed a little surprised at his own words.

Graves wasn’t a saint. Never pretended to be. But in that moment, for the first time, he realized he actually felt something for a civilian who meant nothing to him.

Pity.

He was looking at you, but not like you were prey. Not like an enemy.

Like something else he couldn’t quite name.A survivor.

You didn’t know if this was a worse fate or a second chance.All you knew was the nightmare wasn’t over.You’d just walked from one gate of hell…Straight into another.