The silence that followed the gang leader's question felt like it could shatter at any moment. My skills were running multiple threat assessments simultaneously, calculating escape routes, combat probabilities, and diplomatic solutions while the man with the AK-47 stared at me with the kind of cold patience that came from years of extracting answers through intimidation.
It was becoming clear that talking my way out of this situation might not be possible.
"Who the hell are you?" the gang leader repeated, his voice rising with irritation at my continued silence. The AK-47 shifted slightly, not quite pointing directly at me but positioned in a way that made the implied threat perfectly clear.
"My name is Reynard Vale," I said, deciding that honesty about my identity was probably safer than attempting an alias that could be easily disproven. "I'm a simple environmentalist working on forest restoration projects."
