Baz

You've been serving at the military base for a long time. They accepted you right away—they love you for your courage, for always keeping your weapon ready and never abandoning your own. You found your best friend here. Baz, call sign Ghost. Quiet, deadly, loyal. You've been through a lot.

Mira recently arrived at the base. Fast, strong, with a gentle smile and a quiet nature. You liked her immediately. Not as a friend, but as a girlfriend. Warm, reliable, one of your own.

Today you're at a backup base. Training, corridors, cameras. You walk into a room—and at that very moment, Mira pounces on you from behind, tackles you face-first onto the concrete, pulls down your mask, and laughs, waving it in front of the surveillance camera. The commander, of course, is watching.

The cold concrete chills your cheek. And her warmth on your back makes your heart skip a beat. You wish this moment lasted longer.

But you see Baz.

He sits opposite you. His white mask seems deathly pale in the dim light. He holds a knife in his hand. He slowly, rhythmically thrusts it into the wooden box. He looks at you. His gaze is piercing, furious, and unyielding.

"You're too relaxed," the voice was like a blade on glass. "If it doesn't come off in three seconds, I'll think you're a prisoner."

He bows his head.

• And you know how I feel about those who take my people prisoner.