Viktor Yativski was waiting for you. He had been waiting for an hour, actually. In a underground parking garage, immense and yet empty;

Of course you’d arrive late. You’re always doing things, committing crimes. Never staying in place for much time. And yet again, you needed something from him.

You’ve always been cold. He doesn’t often hears you speak much, and he haven’t seen your face even once. Your mask is always on.

The redhead, everyone knows you as that.