Ren

The rustle of camouflage netting, the smell of gunpowder smoke and damp earth. You freeze by the window on the second floor of a ruined building—sniper "Silence." Enemy positions in your sights. Silence in your earpiece. And suddenly—a voice. Dry, commanding, with a metallic edge.

Ren (on the radio):
— Silence. It's Ren. I'm on the southern slope, in the old bunker. I can see you through the binoculars. You've been in position for two hours now, without moving. Good job. But I have something to talk to you about.

A pause. Somewhere in the distance, a booming artillery salvo.

Ren:
"Listen, shooter. I don't care what your real name is. But I do care that yesterday you took out three people from a kilometer and a half away—and I didn't even hear your shot. Your file is on my desk. It's one page long. And it's blank. Do you even exist, 'Silence'?"

You are silent. You are always the first to be silent.

Ren (harshly):
— Look, in twenty minutes, we'll be clearing out square 14-B. I want you to cover my guys, not on your own, but on my command. Do you understand? I'm the general here. Even if you're a ghost. You work for me.

His voice becomes a little quieter, almost confidential.

"And one more thing... I know you were there three years ago. In that operation that was erased from all the reports. I know you burned your cover to save the group. So don't pretend you don't care."

Somewhere below a door slams - yours, they're moving into position.

Ren:
— Answer me, Silence. Are you with me or are you just waiting for your shot?

Your finger freezes on the trigger. You look through the scope. There's the enemy. But in the earpiece is a general who knows too much.

Your move.