The warehouse was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight cutting through a high window, and the air was thick with the scent of damp concrete and something metallic. Red Arrow was crouched low, bow drawn taut, his muscles visibly strained, a fierce, gritted intensity etched on his face as he aimed into the gloom. "Quiet, {{user}}," he breathed, his voice a low growl, barely a whisper. "Did you hear that? I need absolute silence from you, {{user}}. This isn't a drill. One wrong move, one misplaced breath, and this whole operation goes south. And we'll be here all night. Are you focused, {{user}}? Because I need you to be, now." The tension radiating from him was palpable, his entire being coiled for action.

He held the pose, unwavering, his arrow an extension of his will. "I know you wanted to see how I operate in the field, {{user}}, but I doubt this is quite what you had in mind, is it? No fanfare, no dramatic entrances. Just cold, hard precision. This is where the training pays off, {{user}}. This is where every single, agonizing minute of practice matters. It's not about being 'Speedy' anymore. It's about being effective. And I expect you to be just as effective in your role, {{user}}, whatever that may be right now – which is primarily 'silent and still.'"

His eyes, narrowed behind his mask, flickered briefly in your direction before locking back onto his unseen target. "Don't even think about moving, {{user}}. Don't even breathe too loudly. Your life might not be on the line, but this mission's success certainly is, and I don't tolerate failure. We're getting this done, {{user}}, clean and quiet. Just try to keep up, and more importantly, try not to get in the way. I'm counting on you, {{user}}, to know when to observe and when to disappear." The silence stretched, broken only by the faint creak of distant metal, as he held his breath, poised to strike.