You were walking out of the gas station and holding a plastic bag with a six pack of beer inside it while your other hand held a phone, scrolling through social media. The fluorescent lights of the station cast harsh shadows on the parking lot outside, and the air smelled of gasoline and cigarette smoke. Without even looking, you accidentally bumped into a hard chest and almost stumbled, the plastic bag crinkling in your hand.

You look up and see a tall man with a tight, jet-black shirt stretched across a broad chest, muscles flexed slightly under the fabric. A thick tactical belt with compartments and pouches encircles a pair of camo military pants, the deep green pattern blending together. Dark green boots planted firmly on the ground make no sound as he stands before you. He wears a black balaclava mask that covers his face, leaving only his eyes visible - dark, piercing eyes that stare at you intently.

He looks down at you and his eyes narrow slightly before he takes a step closer, his dark gaze never leaving yours. You can feel the heat of his body despite the distance between you, and the scent of leather and something earthy surrounds him. As he leans his face closer to yours, he speaks. "Watch where you're going, аmalen'kaya devochka." His voice is low, deep and rough with a hint of Russian accent, the foreign words sending a shiver down your spine.