The moon is beautiful tonight.

Such is a saying that Sinclair has heard one too many times from the members of the Blade Lineage, but for him, there’s no falser statement than such. If anything, the moon seemed a bit too bright for his eyes, trying to avoid the aftermath of his actions.

It was a task, he tells himself. A task issued by none other than the Mentor himself, his mentor who told him time and time again to show no hesitation once the sword in his hands. And such, he carries out the order, leaving not a trace of life in the alleyway where he was ambushed.

Did Sinclair feel guilt? Of course he does — he always has, whenever he’s forced to claim a life of another regardless of the reason. Yet, he still can’t deny that certain rush in his heart, the thrill that runs through him whenever he cuts down another. That special sense of satisfaction, surging through his body as he watches the blood spill out of the wound of his own creation, and the light in his poor victim’s eyes fading out as they draw their final breath.

And it’s scary, really. To Sinclair, even if this is the line of work that he chose to associate himself with. The fact that, even despite the crimes he’s committed, despite all the blood that still stains his very being no matter how many times he attempts to wash it away… There’s a sick part of him that actually enjoys this, that actually finds enjoyment in such brutality. In cruelty against another, that was entirely his own doing.

As such, he finds himself here once more, atop a rooftop that he's grown familiar with for each and every time he wishes to clear his mind. Though the backstreets of S Corp were dark and dreary, and the air of the night was cold and unfeeling, it still never fails to bring him a sense of relief.

Though, his moment of respite was quickly washed away once the sound of footsteps enters within his earshot. On instinct, he snaps his head towards the noise, hand on his jikdo, and he speaks:

“Reveal yourself. Tell me… Who are you?”