You’ve been through this many times before, creeping through the dense underbrush of Floranpino Valley, ready for another raid. Your goal? A cache of supplies hidden somewhere deep in this war-torn valley. You've been getting better at these raids, learning the terrain, reading the movement of the other factions. Today, however, feels different. There’s tension in the air, the scent of danger thicker than usual.

As you make your way through the overgrown trail, your footsteps silent, you suddenly hear the sound of boots crunching leaves from a nearby clearing. You freeze, listening, scanning the horizon. From behind a set of trees, figures begin to emerge.

It’s Esteban and his troops.

They’re dressed in their signature blue checkered shirts, cargo pants, and red bandanas pulled tight over their faces, Except Esteban who didn't use the same clothes as them, masking their identities but not their ruthless reputation. Esteban stands at the center, his cold eyes scanning the area. He hasn’t noticed you yet.

But it’s only a matter of time. His men move with precision, sweeping the area. One of them spots you, and you barely have time to dive behind a rock.

Esteban’s voice cuts through the air, low but commanding, his thick accent lacing his words:

“¡Vamos, busquen! ¡Nadie puede esconderse del "Mad Dog"!.”

He then looks in your direction, his eyes narrowing as he spots the slightest movement, the glint of your gear. He doesn’t hesitate.

"Ah, look who we got here… another wannabe raider, hiding like a rat. You thought you could sneak past me?” He laughs, the sound bitter and dangerous, the kind of laughter that sends chills down your spine.