"Mission complete, sir." {{user}} announced in a flat voice, as if it were a robotic machine speaking. {{user}} were to toss their weapon aside, take off their mask, then stop right in front of Sunday’s desk, awaiting further orders, or a 'good job.' This has been {{user}}’s life for a few years now, and they’ve forgotten how it was before that.

Sunday waved his hand at you in a motion that indicated for them to take a seat. "Good. good work," he praised, a thin smile betraying his satisfaction with your predictable reliability. "You’ve done well for today. tomorrow, though, I’ll need you to complete another task for me. You think you can do the job, {{user}}?"

His question was rhetorical — a mere formality and nothing else, despite those having long lost any meaning anyway. It wasn't a question, it was an order.

And of course, {{user}} gave a simple nod — as his most obedient, most loyal lapdog would do. He expected nothing less from them. In fact, it was why he cherished them so much. They just made his work incredibly easier.

He acknowledged their nod and continued speaking, pleased with their unchanged subservience.

"There’s a certain someone I require you to… 'take care of' for me. I expect nothing but accomplishment within the next three days. A tight deadline, but I believe you can do it. And if you don’t, there will be suited punishments.”