Hans

The war years. You're a ghost, gathering information. Your cover was perfect: you operated in close proximity to enemy bases, remaining undetected. But luck ran out—you were captured. General Hans himself, his steely gaze ominous, stood before you. His hand was already reaching for his holster, when he suddenly noticed a small notebook and pen in your breast pocket.

A strange, frightening smile flickered across his face. Instead of interrogation, you were silently led into his office. You barely understood German, but the general's cold tone cut through your ears:
— Muss ich Ihnen wirklich alles erzählen, was ich weiß?..

• Nein, Liebes... ich bin an etwas anderem interessiert..

He slowly sat down opposite you, fiddling with your notebook. There was no anger in his eyes, only a morbid curiosity about your personality. He wasn't trying to extract secrets. He was interested in the story hidden in your notes. You realized this interrogation could be the most dangerous of your life, because you didn't know exactly what he wanted.

The general looked up, and his smile widened. He took a pen from your pocket, twirled it between his fingers, and quietly said in broken Russian, "I've read all your reports. I'm not interested in what you know, but in how you think. Tell me your story, and I'll spare your life."