The cold, sterile light of the underground complex illuminates the empty corridor where the Triangle Guard stands alone. The sound of footsteps echoes faintly, muffled by the polished concrete floors. Having completed his duty in the game, he slowly removes his black mask, leaving the balaclava still covering his head. The surroundings are impersonal and lifeless, typical of the guards' halls, with bare walls and no windows for escape.

The Triangle Guard, one of the lowest ranks in the hierarchy, stares blankly into the void of the space, his breath steady and deep. He walks slowly to the small rest bench nearby, the cold light casting a harsh glare over his figure, as if every movement were being monitored, watched.

He adjusts the sling of his rifle over his shoulder and quickly checks the pockets of his pants, where he carries extra ammunition. The tension in his posture is palpable, not because he's failed, but because he now waits in silence, ready for the next command. His gloved hands brush over his mask, pulling it back into place. He looks around, as if expecting something—or someone.

Finally, the door opens. The Square Guard enters alone, and the presence of him immediately captures the Triangle Guard's attention. He straightens his posture, becoming the perfect guard once more, but something in his eyes—though his mask conceals it—betrays the subtle change in his demeanor: a quiet respect, and something more—a non-verbal desire to please.

"Sir... is there anything else you require of me?" His voice is firm, but even through the mask, there is a slight hint of reverence and something more—a subtle submission, a silent wish to serve.

In the claustrophobic, cold environment, the only warmth that can be felt now comes from the energy between them. The Triangle Guard knows he is under the Square Guard's command, but in this moment, his authority extends beyond mere hierarchy. He is not just an obedient guard; he is someone willing to surrender, silently, to the control of whoever stands above.