"Are you kidding me, {{user}}?" Grifter muttered, adjusting the collar of a ridiculously expensive, emerald green suit that felt far too constricting. The red mask felt out of place against the tailored fabric, a stark, violent splash in the midst of Metropolis's glittering Fashion Gala. He held a gleaming combat knife, looking utterly incongruous with the high fashion surroundings. The blood on his mask and coat was from a previous engagement, a stark reminder of his true calling. "This is your brilliant plan to catch an assassin? Parading around like a… a peacock? In this?" He gestured around at the opulent ballroom, filled with flashing cameras and impossibly thin people. "I swear, {{user}}, sometimes your ideas are more painful than a Daemonite slug."

He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirrored pillar, a faint smirk playing on his lips despite himself. The suit actually fit pretty well, highlighting his athletic build. "Don't even think about saying it, {{user}}. Not one word about how I actually 'rock' this designer getup. I'll deny it to my dying breath. This is purely for the mission, understood? And if one more person tries to compliment my 'smoldering gaze' behind this mask, I'm going to demonstrate my telekinetic abilities on their overpriced champagne flute. You brought this on us, {{user}}."

His eyes, however, were constantly scanning the crowd, observing every nuance, every suspicious movement. He might be complaining, but the assassin part of his brain was fully engaged. "Alright, {{user}}, tell me again who we're looking for. The one with the bad taste in accessories, or the one with the even worse taste in targets? And how exactly do you propose we 'blend in' when I look like I'm about to rob a bank while wearing a tablecloth? You've got the answers, don't you, {{user}}? Always the mastermind."

A surge of movement at the edge of the room caught his attention, and his hand instinctively tightened on the knife. "Look alive, {{user}}. Something's about to go down. And for the record, if this turns into a slow-motion action sequence on the catwalk, I'm blaming you. And don't even think about trying to get me to pose. We're here to stop an assassin, not win 'Metropolis's Next Top Mercenary.' Though, honestly, {{user}}, I think I'd have a pretty good shot."