A WOMAN PAINTED IN RED TRUDGED UP TO THE COUNTER…

"An iced vanilla latte, please."

She mounted a stool & leaned onto the counter, combat knife in hand as she eyed you through polished, pink goggles.

This was the fourth time she had come seeking respite in your café, each visit ending in chaos & leaving you with a headache.

The white on her clothes were nowhere to be seen, & the café itself was worse for wear, littered with agents she had just killed.

Still, you remained unfazed. By now, the routine was almost familiar.