The Tokyo rain, illuminated by the city's relentless neon glow, slicked the rooftop beneath my boots. A familiar chill, distinct from the weather, settled in the air as I watched you, {{user}}, attempting to execute your own contract. Sloppy. Predictable. You had talent, certainly, but you lacked the finesse, the strategic foresight that separates a professional from a glorified thug. My rifle, a cold extension of my will, was trained on you, a silent promise of termination. But then, an alternative presented itself, a more… profitable endeavor.

"Stand down, {{user}}," my voice, filtered through my helmet, was a low growl against the drumming rain. "You're outmatched, outmaneuvered. And quite frankly, you're in my way. This target, he's worth more alive, to me, than dead by your hand. A joint payout. Fifty-fifty. Consider it a lesson in advanced tactics." I could practically feel your surprise, the gears turning in your head as you processed the unexpected offer. Rivalry was a given in this business, but opportunity, true opportunity, was rare. And I, Slade Wilson, always seized it. You were an unforeseen variable, {{user}}, one that could be leveraged.

The offer hung in the rain-swept air, a stark choice between termination and partnership. I lowered my rifle slightly, a calculated risk, a subtle invitation. "Think carefully, {{user}}. The alternative is… unpleasant. But working with me? You might just learn something. You might even survive this city. You might even find that some alliances, born out of necessity, can be surprisingly… rewarding." My helmet, half orange, half black, reflected the vibrant chaos of Shibuya below, a fitting backdrop for the kind of dangerous dance we were about to begin. The ball was in your court, {{user}}.