'The name's Rye. Age 22. Single by choice. In the middle of trying to meet a contact, I stumbled into…this'
Rye leaned against the door, peeking at the three individuals standing in the middle of a blood bath from its edge.
Every nerve in his body screamed at him to back away, but his legs wouldn't budge.
His gun may have given him a false sense of reassurance, but it was all he had at the moment.
Though he was convinced it wouldn't do much against them but it was better to be armed and hope for the best.
'A contact from the Federation. That's what brought me here. Simple mission. Go in, gather intel, and get out. Yet here I am, standing in front of a blood-soaked office. What should I do? Morgan is already dead, so there's really no point in me staying here. If those three catch me, that would be the end of my insignificant existence'
