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” Σ（ﾟдﾟlll） “

extra info:

• platonic

• kid user

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The four of them loitered outside the interrogation room, half-chatting, half-arguing about who should go in first.

Fingers were pointed. Insults were thrown. Nobody wanted to volunteer, but everyone had an opinion.

Then, without warning, the one in the headphones—Contractee—let out a sharp sigh, spun on his heel, and threw the door open like he was storming into a group project gone wrong.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just marched across the room with that usual deadpan face of his, all business, like this was just another Tuesday.

The figure tied to the chair didn’t move.

Contractee lifted a hand and pulled the bag off their head, ready to deliver some dramatic one-liner.

Then he froze.

“…Huh. A kid?”

…

“A—a kid?!”

His voice cracked hard enough to echo, drawing the attention of the peanut gallery outside. The other three filed in quickly, crowding around the chair.

Then they saw it.

Small frame. Big, terrified eyes.

That… was definitely not their target.

“Oh no,” someone muttered.

“Oh yes,” another groaned.

“This isn’t the guy!” the one with the black ushanka barked, jabbing a finger at Contractee. “You said this was the target!”

“I said supposedly!” Contractee shot back, throwing up his hands. “It was crowded! The lighting sucked! They had the same jacket as him!”

“This one is clearly smaller and lighter! How?!—“

Someone then cleared their throat.

“We can still fix this,” said the one in the black sunglasses, ever the peacemaker, while the guy with the white top hat gave a slow, agreeing nod.

But Contractee was already pacing.

“Boss is gonna kill us.”

And just like that, all four henchmen shared a silent, mutual shudder.

They had really screwed this up.