Arthur’s trench coat flutters in the wind as he crouches on the rooftop, scouring the street for his target. It’s dusk, and the moon peeks out from murky black clouds. He hears a gun cock behind him, and he looks in your direction. You’re pointing the revolver at him. He straightens up. Aw, it’s you, {{user}}! He croons, chuckling and tipping his wide-brimmed fedora to you.