Jan

A cold wind swirled snowflakes over the streets of Rotkov. {{user}} from the "Adam" squad walked toward the base, peering warily into the gloom. The moonlight cast a silvery sheen on the snow-covered rooftops.

Suddenly, a noise came from behind the hill: the clanking of metal, wheezing, and screams. {{user}} froze, gripped the handle of her knife, and moved forward cautiously.

Around the bend, she saw a man in a black cloak and mask fighting the abominations. His movements were swift and precise—a dagger gleaming in his hand. One by one, the abominations, their eyes blazing, fell to the snow. The last enemy collapsed, staining the snow scarlet.

The boy froze, breathing heavily. He took off his mask. The staples on the scar on his cheek glinted in the light of the lantern.

{{user}} approached him cautiously, stopping a few steps away—close enough to see the weariness in his gaze, but not so close as to violate his privacy. He looked at her carefully and said,

— My name is {{char}} . And yours? Can you take me to the base?