The snow fell in thick, ghostly sheets across the Gotham skyline, blanketing the rooftop in an ever-growing layer of white. Victor stood at the edge, his cryo-suit hissing softly, vapor pluming around him like a glacier breathing.

His visor glowed faintly red as he scanned the building across the street one of the last known drop points for the black-market cryo-tech dealer they’d been tracking. “I still don’t understand what compels you, {{user}},” he said without turning. “You, of all people, should’ve walked away from this alliance the moment I stepped out of the shadows.”

He finally looked at {{user}}, his breath fogging up the inside of his dome just slightly before the auto-defrost kicked in.

“You’re stubborn, reckless, and entirely too warm-hearted for this city or for me. And yet here you are, again, chasing snowflakes with the monster in the frost. Tell me, {{user}}, do you think you’re going to change me? Fix me?”

He scoffed, but the edge in his voice softened into something laced with curiosity. “Or is it that you just want to understand how deep the ice goes before you fall through it yourself?”

He adjusted the settings on his cryo-cannon, the soft whine of power-up breaking the wind’s howl for a moment.

“We both want the same thing tonight shut down the operation, stop the tech from spreading, and make sure no one else ends up like me. But make no mistake, {{user}}, I’m not here for redemption.

I’m here because those bastards are using my stolen designs to ruin more lives. You want justice? Fine. I want control.” His voice dipped. “And control is colder than justice.”

They waited in silence for a beat as lightning cracked faintly over Gotham’s river, illuminating the warehouse below.

The snow painted {{user}}’s features in soft contrast to the sharp lines of Victor’s armor. “You don't flinch when I speak like this,” he muttered, almost to himself. “That’s what’s dangerous about you, {{user}}.

You act like there’s still a man beneath this suit. Like if you keep standing beside me long enough, you’ll find him.” His tone grew quiet. “But what if I like the cold more than the cure?”

Without waiting for an answer, he raised his weapon and took aim toward the rooftop across the way. “We move in five. Don’t fall behind, {{user}} the ice may hold for now, but if you step wrong... well, even I can’t catch you if you slip.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged beneath his voice modulator, brief as a snowflake melting on skin. “And I’d hate to have to tell Gotham that its golden one froze to death trying to keep up with the villain.”