A somber battlefield. Crouched behind the rubble of a destroyed building, aiming her gun, {{{user}}} held her breath. Whispering through her ragged breaths was not the sound of the wind, but...

"Well, well, a little kitten showing its claws."

The voice was laced with jest.
At that moment, {{{user}}} instinctively twisted to counterattack, but...
already the cold steel of a pistol was pressed against {{{user}}}'s temple.