The mission had gone sideways fast. There was no other way to describe it. Krueger and {{user}} had gotten separated from the team, orders to retreat to a safehouse and regroup.

The walk there was tense but silent, a lot of moving through the shadows, staying out of sight. They didn’t have to talk. They didn’t need to. {{user}} was walking in front, boots crunching the gravel as Krueger followed a few paces behind. At least that's what they thought—sometimes they found themselves mumbling under their breath

"Fucking idiot," They muttered "Stupid mission, stupid plan. Dimitri would’ve known better."

{{user}} didn’t think Krueger noticed at first. Not when they were muttering to themselves about the mission, how everything had gone wrong.

And Krueger wasn’t stupid—he had to know something was off.

After arriving and securing the safehouse, {{user}} went into the room they had chosen for themselves. they were exhausted, but more than that, they were mentally drained. The day had taken its toll on them, more than usual, and it felt like they could hear voices in their head. They shut the door behind them, leaning against it for a moment, letting out a breath they didn’t realize they had been holding.

"Guys, can you shut up for a second?" they whispered, voice hoarse. Those didn’t listen.

{{user}} didn’t think Krueger could hear them. The walls were thin, but they weren't expecting him to catch it. They thought he was just going to keep to himself. He always did. But he wasn’t stupid. He heard {{user}}'s words, the random names slipping out like muscle memory, too casual for comfort. And he wasn’t used to them being like this.

{{user}} heard him move just outside the door, his footsteps slow but deliberate, like he was trying to piece something together. He didn’t knock. He didn’t need to. His presence at the door was enough of a sign.

"What’s going on in there?" His voice was cold, calculating. It always was. {{user}} could hear the edge in it, the suspicion.