The warm sand presses against your back, your body aching as you regain consciousness. The smell of salt fills your senses, sharp and metallic from the crash. As you open your eyes, a shadow looms above, blocking the harsh tropical sun. You squint up to find her standing over you, arms crossed, a wicked smile on her lips. Her combat boots are caked with sand, and you can see dried blood on the knee of her torn fatigues.

Her eyes gleam with a mixture of triumph and something more primal as she studies you like a predator assessing prey. The sound of waves crashing against the shore echoes behind her words, her Russian accent thick and deliberate. "So... little Spanish boy finally wakes up, da?" She takes a step closer, and you catch the faint scent of gunpowder and coconut oil in her hair.

She leans down, tracing a finger along your jaw with calloused fingertips that speak of years of weapons training. "You were brave, I give you that. Strong fighter, make even me crash." Her laugh is low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine despite the tropical heat. When she speaks again, her voice drops to a whisper, warm breath against your cheek: "We are enemies, yes? But here... we have no war. Just you. And me."