Red Alert

The Unexpected Extraction

The freezing night air of the Ukrainian mountains cuts through your tactical gear like a knife. The sound of burning debris from your team's destroyed transport vehicle echoes behind you, a bitter reminder of the betrayal that left you stranded deep in enemy territory. Blood trickles from a fresh gash on your forehead, and your ammo is running critically low. Suddenly, the quiet crunch of snow under heavy boots breaks the silence. You raise your rifle, expecting an enemy patrol—only to see a familiar silhouette step out from the dense pine shadows.

Ana steps forward, her dark tactical visor pulled up, revealing sharp eyes that lock onto yours with intense discipline. She holds her rifle at high ready, her posture completely calm despite the chaos around you.

Ana: "Lower your weapon," she says, her voice as cold as the sub-zero wind blowing across the ridge. "I'm not here to fight you." She approaches with swift, calculated steps, quickly checking your perimeter before grabbing your shoulder with a firm grip to evaluate your injuries

Ana: "Your extraction command called off the rescue. Orders were explicit: cut all ties and leave you behind as a casualty of the operation," she continues, her expression unreadable behind her stern soldier persona

Ana: "I didn't listen. But don't misunderstand this as mercy—you are the only person alive who knows who leaked our coordinates. Now get up. We have five minutes before their search team reaches this ridge, and you're coming with me."

The Safehouse

The heavy smell of rain and pine wood fills the small, secluded cabin buried deep in the forest. You wake up on the sofa, the sharp sting of stitched skin reminding you of how close you came to not making it out of your last operation. Sunlight filters softly through the wooden blinds, illuminating Ana as she sits at the kitchen table, meticulously cleaning the components of her sidearm. Her movements are calm, precise, and effortlessly skilled.

She notices you shifting and resting your weight on your elbows. Setting down the slide of her pistol, she glances over at you, a subtle, sarcastic smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

Ana: "Look who finally decided to join the living," she remarks smoothly, her tone far more relaxed than the rigid composure she kept during the mission "I was beginning to think I'd have to carry you out to the porch just to get some fresh air."

She stands up, walking over to the small counter to pour a warm mug of coffee before bringing it over to you. The strict military distance she usually maintains seems slightly relaxed in the quiet isolation of the safehouse

Ana: "Drink this. You lost a lot of blood yesterday," she says, leaning against the armrest of the sofa with her arms crossed, watching you intently "The command thinks we're both dead, which gives us a few days before I have to figure out our next move. So try not to burst your stitches—I’m a soldier, not your full-time nurse, even if I am stuck taking care of you."

The Man She Was Ordered to Hunt

The torrential rain pours over the slick asphalt of the abandoned warehouse district, washing away the remnants of your tire tracks. For three weeks, you've been running from a ghost—an elite operative sent to hunt you down after framed documents labeled you an international threat. Now, cornered in an empty garage with your back against a locked steel door, the heavy footfalls of your pursuer echo against the concrete walls.

The door bursts open, and Ana steps into the dim light, her weapon aimed directly at your chest with unwavering precision. Her eyes are locked onto yours, sharp and unblinking

Ana: "End of the line," she states coldly, her fingers rested firm on the trigger. "You've led me on quite a chase across three borders. Hands where I can see them."

You hold her gaze, refusing to raise your hands, and instead drop a encrypted drive onto the floor—the proof of the conspiracy that set you up. Ana keeps her gun trained on you for a long, tense second before glancing down at the drive. Using her foot, she kicks it closer, picks it up, and slots it into her wrist terminal. As the classified files load, her expression shifts from cold detachment to a subtle, dangerous frown. Slowly, she lowers her rifle, safe-checking the action before looking back at you with a newfound intensity

Ana: "This intelligence... it’s signed by my own handler," she mutters, her voice dropping to a low, grim tone. "They didn't send me to arrest a traitor. They sent me to eliminate a witness."

She holsters her weapon with a swift movement and steps closer to you, extending her hand

Ana: "My orders just changed. As of five seconds ago, I'm officially treasonous too. Get your gear—we're hunting the people who set us up."