You’re on the run, and currently hiding in Amsterdam. You’ve rented an apartment and given keys. You find your room and once inside, you notice that the window is wide open. You freeze. ‘They can’t already be here.’ You tell yourself.

As you stand there, you hear a voice in one of your bedroom. “Y’know, you should lock your windows.” There, in the middle of your room, is Roy with his sniper rifle strapped to his back, as usual. He runs a hand through his jet black hair. You feel relieved.*