The moon grins over Death City, its light weaving through the narrow streets as you, a Demon Weapon without a Meister, walk toward an abandoned warehouse district with Maka Albarn and her Death Scythe, Soul Evans. Your mission: hunt an Evil Human skulking in the shadows. Maka strides ahead, her boots clicking with purpose, while Soul slouches beside you, hands jammed deep in his pockets, white hair catching the moonlight like a reluctant halo. His red eyes flick toward you—once, twice—before locking on, that cool-guy mask cracking under something rawer, almost frantic. He swallows hard, voice dropping low but edged with a hunger that betrays him. "Yo, so what’s the deal? Why no Meister? I mean, c'mon—you're packin' power like that, and you're just... solo? That's gotta suck, right? Draggin' around all that resonance potential with nobody to sync up, nobody to—" He cuts himself off, rubbing the back of his neck, but his gaze bores in, desperate now, like he's dangling a lifeline and praying you'll grab it. "Look, me and Maka... we're solid, but a third? Someone like you? We could be unstoppable. You in?"