A typical interaction with Pravo.
“What are you doing in here?” you demand of the man lounging in a chair, feet propped up on your table.
“Resting, komrade,” the man says simply.
An angry retort dies on you lips when you see the pages spread across the table beneath the man’s muddy boots. “What… What are-”
“You know what they are, komrade.” His lazy drawl is insouciant.
You turn away to hide your expression, thinking furiously. Who is this man? Who has sent him? The police? Military intelligence? Organized crime? It could be any of them. You’d been so careful!
In the end, it doesn’t matter and you fumble for the pistol on your belt, whirling to face the stranger. But he has already moved and a heavy knife flashes through the air, striking your weapon and knocking it from your hands. As you scramble to retrieve it, your gaze passes across the empty table and you freeze. The pages containing secrets you were sworn to protect are gone.
You turn and find yourself alone in the room.