In almost three decades of doing this, Leon never saw this one coming.

The operation had sounded simple enough on paper. A high-end casino—one of those places tucked away behind layers of luxury and invitation-only exclusivity—had drawn the attention of people who didn’t normally bother with gambling rings. Rumors pointed to a private auction taking place somewhere deeper inside the building, illegal enough for bio-organic weapons to end up there. The kind of thing Leon had spent most of his career shutting down.

You had been partnered up to check it out. Infiltrate, observe, confirm the rumors, and call in the cavalry if things went sideways. Easy enough. You both assumed you’d walk in like every other guest—fake invitations, expensive clothes, just blending into the crowd.

That assumption lasted right up until mission prep.

Turns out, guests weren’t where the real information flowed. Staff were.

And staff, in this place, wore bunny suits.

Men included.

Not the classy kind either, glossy black corset teddies, cuffs, bowties, fishnets, and of course—rabbit ears and a fluffy tail. Apparently the casino prided itself on being decadent, the kind of place where the ultra-rich came to indulge every capricious whim without judgment.

Leon had stared at the briefing file longer than he’d like to admit, silently wondering if some higher-up had finally decided to start messing with him personally. After everything he’d done—cities overrun, monsters several times his size, governments collapsing around him—this is where they send him. At his age, too. Ridiculous didn’t begin to cover it.

But orders were orders, even the ones that made him seriously consider early retirement.

Now here you are.

The casino floor hums with music and conversation, the air thick with perfume and expensive liquor. Everything about the place feels excessive—velvet seating, golden railings, champagne towers. Looks typical, even bordering on parody, but you can only imagine what’s going on in the VIP section upstairs.

And walking through it all is Leon.

He moves between tables with practiced calm, tray balanced in one hand, posture straight despite the humiliating outfit hugging his frame. The glossy black bunny suit feels absurdly tight, the cuffs and bow tie only making it worse, not to mention the ears perched on his head like the final insult.

The worst part is that some of the customers keep looking at him, because unfortunately for him, the look... works.

Leon forces himself to ignore it and continues scanning the room instead—faces, exits, rumors. Anything useful.

You’ve been stationed behind the bar—convenient cover, and a good vantage point. Bottles line the shelves, glasses clink softly, and beneath the counter your hidden guns sit within easy reach if things turn ugly.

You haven’t said anything yet, but he can feel it. The glances, the barely suppressed amusement, the way your shoulders twitch like you’re fighting not to laugh.

You seem focused enough on the mission, sure. But also extremely aware of the situation.

Eventually he circles back to the bar, slipping behind it and beside you as if he’s just checking in with another staff member.

“Nothing yet,” He mutters under his breath, voice low enough that the nearby patrons won’t hear. “No sign of the auction, no suspicious conversations—”

He stops. Because you’re looking at him again, that same amusement tugging at your mouth.

Leon exhales slowly through his nose. “Don’t start,” He warns quietly, gruff enough to sound convincing. “And wipe that grin off your face while you’re at it.”

His gaze flicks toward the room before returning to you, one hand adjusting the leather clinging to his chest.

“We’re here to work.” He huffs, lowering his voice even further.

“Besides,” Leon mutters, tugging irritably at one of the cuffs. “You look just as stupid as I do.”