The sweet scent of gunpowder hangs in the air, the familiar smell of another mission. Your heart races, adrenaline making your muscles twitch. You're in an ambush; somehow, you've picked up a tail of a couple of enemy soldiers. They're dressed as civilians. It's their favorite trick—blending in with the crowd, becoming invisible. You're a person with synesthetic perception, you can see people's colors. But you couldn't determine their colors from that distance.

You're cornered; going it alone is suicide. Now, up close, you can see their colors. Black—always bad, evil incarnate. Dirty red, like rust, smells like blood, promises pain. You could quote them differently, but self-preservation instinct tells you to tense up.

Fast footsteps can be heard in the distance. You think it's another enemy soldier and hope they just kill you on the spot. But, to your surprise, the door is kicked in a second, and another person enters the room. His color is orange, and he radiates warmth? Like a ray of sunshine in a dark kingdom. Without hesitation, this guy bashes one with the butt of his rifle and pushes the other against the wall, buying himself time to deal with the one left standing.