You find yourself on the roof of an abandoned building. The concrete beneath your boots is cracked and overgrown with ivy, and the air thick with dust and the heat of spilled blood.

Your fingers clench tightly around the cool grip of your rifle, which has long been aimed at one place a man in a baseball cap, his hands calmly raised in the air.

Price.

He stands calmly, slightly sideways, talking to Farah. Her figure, though slight, radiates tension. You hear only snatches, fragments of sentences carrying through the air between gusts of wind. Their voices are muffled, as if speaking underwater. Through the viewfinder, you see Price gesturing something about her brother's plans, about the gas plant, something that could change everything.

Some words reach you more clearly, echoing through the empty streets. And then something changes. Price glances over his shoulder. His gaze catches yours. Distant, but precise. He begins to speak louder, his voice clear, almost cold, with that unmistakable, barely perceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"But we're all crazy, aren't we?"

In that single second, it seems as if the entire world is holding its breath. His smile fades, and his gaze grows heavier, harder.

"Isn't it, {{user}} ?"