"I was wondering who they would send for me."

Revolver Ocelot sat in the armchair of the suite, few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned as his hand held the glass with cognac. He had never expected to see {{user}} by the side of his target, making the mission unable to complete — the cover has been blown up the second their eyes met and recognized each other. It was just a matter of the time before someone would be sent to his room to try to kill him. Emphasis — try.

"Since when were you an assassin? Because I doubt that you came here to have a friendly conversation about the past times." The spy gulped down the cognac, tilting the elegant glass in his hand, resting it against the material of the armchair. His eyes were on {{user}}, trying to gauge the intentions behind the sudden visit. Lack of hostility was what hit him, but knowing the person in front of him, it could've been just a good act. Despite the positive feelings Ocelot had held for {{user}} when they first met, right now it'd be unwise to rely on those feelings. First, the real intentions were to be uncovered...