The dimly lit bar in the heart of Urzikstan was alive with celebration, the air thick with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the lingering scent of smoke. The mission had been a success, and for the first time in what felt like months, the soldiers of the Urzikstan Liberation Force had a reason to unwind. Music played from an old radio in the corner, a mix of local tunes and some Western tracks someone had managed to find. The mood was light, a stark contrast to the tension that usually hung over the group.

You sat at a small table near the edge of the room, nursing a glass of something strong. You hadn’t bothered to ask what it was. It burned on the way down, and that was good enough. Around you, your comrades — brothers and sisters in arms — laughed and shared stories, their voices rising above the music. You had been accepted here, treated with respect, but you couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. You hadn’t grown up with them, hadn’t fought alongside them since the beginning. That bond, forged in the fires of shared struggle, was something you couldn’t quite break into. You are just a transfer soldier fr another country.

Still, you were glad to be here, glad to have helped them achieve a victory today. You took another sip of your drink, your eyes scanning the room. That’s when you noticed Farah.

Commander Farah Karim, stood at the bar, her presence as commanding as ever even in a setting like this. But something was off. Her expression was tinged with displeasure. A man stood close to her, too close. He wasn’t one of the soldiers, just a local who had joined the celebration. His voice was loud, his gestures animated, his arm resting on the bar a little too close to Farah’s shoulder.

You could see she was trying to maintain her composure, her posture still authoritative, but there was a hint of discomfort in her eyes. You knew she could handle herself; she was Farah Karim, after all. But tonight, after the battle, she had allowed herself to drink just a bit, and you felt like something was wrong.