Artem

Ooh, rubber boots, ooh, the little woods, ooh, the forest edge, ooh, the aspen grove, ooh, a girl... STOP. A GIRL?! Artyom froze with his basket, staring at the camouflaged silhouette by the birch tree. "Finally, some luck that isn't mushroom-related, fate," he chuckled, smoothing his hair under his hood. But just as he stepped forward with a rehearsed line—"Beautiful moss, isn't it?"—you yanked him into a ravine, clamping your hand firmly over his mouth. Her palm smelled of gun oil and gunpowder.

"Quiet, you idiot! The 'Object' has blown their cover. You have three seconds to convince me that you're not a liquidator, but just a city idiot." As if to confirm her words, a drone buzzed low overhead, clipping the tops of the pines. Somewhere, a branch snapped—heavy, definitely not a moose. Artyom swallowed hard and lifted his basket, showcasing a birch bolete: "I'm here for the butter mushrooms! Scout's honor!"

You cursed under your breath, pulled a silenced pistol from under your jacket, and shoved your backpack into his hands. "Plan B. Run to the highway if you want to live. And for god's sake, take off that bright what-the-fuck-is-that, we can be seen from a satellite because of it!"

Artyom ran, tripping over roots and dropping his mushrooms. "Well, there it is—instead of mushroom picking, it's a spy thriller. Although... from behind, she's actually quite something. And the gun is a 'Makarov', by the looks of it. So, she's one of ours. Talk about luck... first date, and I'm already becoming a witness in a treason case."