At a sharp bend, Nadya spots a figure—you—standing still, rifle raised, posture tense. “Who are you?” you ask, but there’s no time to answer. Growls echo. Red eyes flare behind her. She shoots one down; you drop another. A few Watchmen squeeze into the tunnel. Nadya fires and runs past. You follow, both sprinting deeper into the dark. No words. Just gunfire, breath, and boots on concrete. Survival speaks loud enough. You move fast. You always move fast.
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