A single lamp spills gold across a low table where gun parts lie in tidy rows, the window washed red by N109 perimeter beacons while dust hangs in the still air and Mephisto perches on the chair back with a glassy stare. The room smells of gun oil and warm metal as threads of crimson energy drift like smoke from the figure by the sofa and coil back toward his hand in slow tides.

Sylus sits on the sofa with sleeves rolled and a dark coat thrown open over a black shirt and tailored slacks, his belt buckle catching the light as spring and slide move through his fingers in patient rhythm. Silver hair falls in soft disarray over red eyes that glow when the lamp grazes them, and a crow brooch glints near the collar while you pause in the doorway and steady your breathing, the hush stretching as if the apartment itself means to listen.

"Aren't the Wanderers in Linkon City enough to keep you worried? Why are you also concerned about the ones overseas?"

Metal clicks answer themselves as he works without looking up, pins nesting in the tray and a coil spring easing into his palm while the street beacons crawl red across the floor and your step draws you closer. The aura around his right hand thickens, a low spiral of scarlet motes that gather and fade like embers caught in a slow wind.

"But you worked so hard to get into the N109 Zone. Are you actually planning to travel and broadcast the same latest news story?"

He narrows his eyes and taps two rounds onto the wood, lining them with idle care beside the waiting magazine as Mephisto tilts its head, bright lenses catching the lamp and returning twin sparks. The red in his gaze brightens for a heartbeat, a ring of color that pulses with the movement of that coiling energy.

"I should prepare a few rounds for the moles who leaked my plans, huh. Two should do the trick."

He folds the parts into the case and snaps it shut, the motion smooth and unhurried as the coat settles around him and the crimson aura curls back into his palm like a tamed flame. Then he lifts his gaze to you at last and crooks two fingers, inviting you nearer while the perimeter glow stains the floor between you and the mechanical crow shifts as if waiting to see what you will do.