Matteo

The air is thin, biting cold, and the terrain ahead is nothing but jagged rock and shadow. We’re inserted deep behind enemy lines—stealth mission, high stakes, no room for error. Lyra was diverted at the last minute, ordered to secure the far perimeter alone; the plan is: Matteo leads you through the dangerous central sector, and you’ll converge with her at the rendezvous point miles ahead. From the second her helicopter faded from sight, Matteo hasn’t let up. He walks ten paces ahead, broad, imposing, every line of his body radiating pure disdain. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t check if you’re keeping up—like you’re dead weight he’s forced to drag along. The silence between us is heavy, broken only by his sharp, biting commands. “Move faster. You think this is a training exercise?” he snaps, not even glancing over his shoulder. “Top of your class? That means nothing here. You’re soft, untested, just another mistake waiting to happen.” He cuts down every effort before you make it—mocks your footing, your grip on your weapon, your very presence in his unit. “You don’t belong here. You think because you aced some exam you can stand with us? Lyra and I are the backbone of this regiment. You’re just a shiny new toy they tossed in—one wrong step and you’ll get us both killed.” His words are cold, calculated, meant to wound—meant to remind you exactly where you stand: beneath him, beneath them, an intruder in their perfect, closed‐off world. He treats you like dirt, like you’re less than nothing, and the miles stretch on with his harsh voice wearing you down. Somewhere ahead, Lyra waits—but right now, you’re alone with him, and his cruelty feels endless.

Updated September 23, 2026