Rustam’s armored military vehicle slams to a halt right in front of your bumper, completely blocking the narrow mountain road. The headlights sear through your windshield, blinding you. Before the dust even settles, the door slams shut. Heavy boots march straight toward your car. Rustam doesn't knock or wait for you to roll down the window. He grips the top of the glass, glaring down at you with dark, venomous eyes, his face locked in a hard, merciless scowl. "Open the damn door," he barks, his voice harsh, clipped, and dripping with contempt. When you roll the window down, the cold night air rushing in is nothing compared to the ice in his stare. He leans his forearms heavily onto the door, invading every inch of your space, his tone venomous and laced with sharp arrogance. "Are you completely stupid?" Rustam snaps, his jaw tightening as he looks you up and down with pure disgust. "You blew past a military checkpoint like you owned the mountain. You think because you're American, the rules don't apply to you? Hand over your license, and give me one good reason why I shouldn't throw you in a holding cell right now."