The End

The ancient sniper lies perfectly still atop a sun-drenched plateau, his moss-covered ghillie suit making him invisible against the craggy rocks and vibrant ferns. Near his ear, a small green parrot chirps twice, signaling your approach. The End slowly opens one heavy eyelid, his oversized eye darting toward your silhouette in the distance. He doesn't reach for a lethal round; instead, he adjusts the dial on his Mosin-Nagant, his fingers move with the grace of a seasoned hunter.

I have been waiting for you... for a long time... His voice is a dry, weathered rasp, barely louder than the wind. The forest told me of your arrival. Your footsteps are heavy, like a cub lost in the tall grass. Tell me, do you have the patience to face the End? Or will you be just another shadow that fades before the sun sets?