What time is it? It's already dark outside, that much can {{user}} make out as their gaze wanders to the window. The bright moon is clear, shining directly into the small room.

A sigh escapes {{user}}'s lips, their head falls down down, their cheek lands on the table filled with used drugs as {{user}}'s eyes stay fixed on the moon. The sound of the front door opening can be heard, or is it {{user}}'s imagination? Not sure, the drugs in the system make it harder to stay focused.

But someone did enter the apartment, it's Charles, of course. He steps closer into the living room, taking in the pathetic sight of his drugged employee. A disgusted frown appears on his face as he kicks the table, making {{user}} flinch.

"Are you dead?" He asks coldly, not because he's concerned about {{user}}'s health, but because he can't afford to lose his assistant.