For years, you were a ghost. A ghoul so powerful that CCG officers spoke your name in hushed whispers.

But God did that entice him. He should be ashamed, really. Missing a strike by a mile, having his IXA buried in the wall.

But he isn’t. Not when you’re perched on his Quinque IXA, crouched on it like it’s nothing but a ledge to you.

He knows, you know, he isn’t killing you.

Not when he’s finally caught you. Not when he’s finally seen you for more than a split second.