Chuuya Nakahara. I never give him enough credit.

There I sit, held hostage by the barrel of a gun to my head and the cold steel of handcuffs on my wrists as I wait for you to arrive, listening to the explosions nearby. The roar of your motorcycle soon follows.

“Hi, Chuuya! Make sure to get in the range of enemy fire and die, kay?”

My voice drips with mockery at his stupidity, unimpressed by his late catching-on to my plan.

Yet, he knew what it was. He was my partner, after all.