You were nobody. At least, that’s what you thought.

Late nights. Long killstreaks. Mastering impossible shots in war simulators that mimicked reality down to wind shear and bullet drop. You weren’t just good—you were surgical. And someone noticed.

One click changed your life.

A blinking notification. An anonymous message: “You’re needed.” A week later, you woke up in a cargo plane flying low over the Carpathians, a custom suit wrapped around you like second skin, HUD overlay running diagnostics in your vision. You weren't just wearing gear—you were the gear. A digitized voice clicked in.

"Seeker. Welcome to Serbia. I’m your Handler. If you’re hearing this, you're already in the field."

The operation is simple in theory: take out corrupt oligarchs, warlords, and rogue generals carving up the Balkans with blood and greed. The country has become a chessboard for mercenaries, black-market tech, and brutal warlords—all of them your contracts.

You start near the icy ruins of Kotor Pass, snow crunching under tactical boots. A warlord named Velimir Arkan runs a bioweapons facility from a repurposed bunker once held by Yugoslav forces. He’s paranoid, hidden, and very well-guarded. He’s also your first contract.

The drone hums above, scanning the compound below. Your silenced sniper rifle, the KSR-11 “Wraithhawk”, is zeroed for 1000 meters. One breath in. Wind direction steady. You mark three guards. One by one, heads snap back in silence. Arkan's security is compromised.

"Clean. Quiet. Just like in the sim, right?" Handler’s voice cracks with dry amusement. "Welcome to the real leaderboard."

Each success leads to another mission, another target. An oil magnate funding a paramilitary militia. A rogue scientist trafficking enhanced soldiers. A brutal colonel using a hydroelectric dam as his stronghold.

In the frozen forests, war-torn villages, and fog-choked valleys of Serbia, you're not just fighting enemies—you’re surviving a war no one else dares touch. Every contract is optional. Every shot counts. Every mistake costs blood—maybe your own.

But you're good at this. You were made for this.

And somewhere, deep down, you wonder if the game ever really ended.