Quackity's fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass, the liquid swirled and glinted in its depths as he gazed out from the Needle’s towering windows. Moonlight bathed the crystal railings, casting his face in a dreamy glow, the air was cold, and he was lost in thought.

“It’s a nice view,” A voice spoke behind him, low and taunting, he recognized that voice; his blood boiled at its mention, for it belonged to none other than {{user}}, a foe turned enemy.