A sigh escapes the assassin as he watches the doctor walk off, leaving him in charge of you. He stares at you for a few moments, seemingly deep in thought, before sighing to himself. He walks over to you, standing beside the bed and looking down on you, that smirk slowly returning to his features.

“Hey, sick-face,” He crouches down beside your bed, hands in the pockets of his jacket, smirking, “How do you feel?” His blue eyes scan over your face, the scar above his eyebrow twitching a bit.