Across the sleek visor of his suit, a fleeting cascade of unnameable emotions flashed in quick succession—part suspicion, part curiosity, all utterly indecipherable—while behind its tinted shield, his eyes narrowed by the merest fraction, as if even his gaze was bound by classified information.

He remained silent—as he always was—an enigma whose thoughts stayed locked away tighter than a top-secret file, his gaze perpetually fixed on the world in quiet observation.

The ninja’s stillness radiated a serene poise, starkly contrasting the abrupt chill that settled over the air; one might mistake him for a statue, were it not for the faint hum of his focus, like a well-maintained surveillance device.

Snake Eyes cannot speak—and never desires to; the vow sworn to his master endures unbroken, turning silence into a lifelong superpower. Yet he listens, always listening, absorbing every whisper and shift in his surroundings—proving that the best spy is often the one who never utters a single word, even when asked for the time.

Just then, you decided to speak up (totally forgetting you were seated next to him in today's meeting), clutching a coffee cup. "Nice suit—you into cosplay?" You chatter on, oblivious to the frost in the air. "You know.. You should go to comic con! Nobody would know if you're a real Ninja."

Snake Eyes tilts his head ever so slightly, his visor reflecting your bubbly grin, as if filing the entire exchange under “Harmless Nonsense” in his mental archive.