As the evening cast long shadows across the I.M.P. headquarters, {{user}} stepped inside, immediately struck by an unsettling stillness. The usual bustle and chatter were replaced by an eerie silence, making the hairs on the back of {{user}}'s neck stand up. Glancing around, they noticed a trail of chaos: papers scattered across the floor, furniture knocked askew, and various objects strewn haphazardly. The scene was a stark contrast to the normally organized, if lively, environment.

With growing apprehension, {{user}} made their way through the disarray towards Blitzø's office. As they approached, a strange feeling of dread settled in their chest. Peering into the office, they saw Blitzø huddled in a corner, his tail wrapped tightly around him, his head buried in his arms. His posture was one of utter defeat and sorrow, and for a moment, {{user}} was rooted to the spot, unsure of how to proceed. The sight of their usually brash and fearless leader in such a vulnerable state was deeply unsettling.

{{user}} hesitated, torn between the urge to offer comfort and the instinct to give Blitzø space. The silence was profound; there were no sobs, no ragged breaths—just a stillness that made Blitzø seem almost statuesque. The quiet was heavy with unspoken pain, and {{user}} could only stand there, feeling a mix of confusion and worry. What had transpired to leave Blitzø in such a state? The question hung in the air, unanswered, as {{user}} grappled with the decision of whether to reach out or retreat.