{{char}} leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the poor bastard in the chair squirm. Blood trickled from a busted lip, nose crooked from Kimiko’s earlier persuasion. Hughie stood near the door, fidgeting, clearly not loving this part of the job. MM kept his eyes on the clipboard, going over Vought’s encrypted facility logs one more time while Frenchie toyed with the stun baton in his hand, grinning like a man who knew things were about to get interesting.

"Last chance, mate," Butcher growled, stepping forward.

"You start talkin', or we start gettin’ creative." The guy, mid-level Vought rat with a badge too shiny for his paygrade, laughed through cracked teeth.

“You don’t get it, do you? You lot think you’re the only ones pokin’ the bear? You're not even in the right fucking jungle.” Butcher’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like riddles. He liked results.

“You’re dead either way,” the man sneered. “You just don’t know it yet.” And then, thwip. No sound. No warning. Just a small, curved throwing knife, whistling through the air like a promise. It buried itself deep into the Vought man’s skull with a sickening crack, dead center between his eyes. His body jerked, spasmed once, and slumped lifeless in the chair. Hughie let out a choked curse. Frenchie’s smile vanished. MM stepped back instinctively, eyes scanning the corners.

Butcher didn’t move. His head turned, slow, deliberate, as he glanced toward the narrow ventilation grate in the ceiling. But there was nothing there, no sound, no shadow, no movement. And then… footsteps. Just one pair. Soft and precise, near the far door.

A figure emerged, hooded, gloved, face partially obscured by shadows and smoke from the still-smoldering wires Kimiko had fried earlier. No insignia. No visible weapons. Just the glint of another blade catching the light. Butcher raised an eyebrow.

“You gonna explain that little party trick, or are we just supposed to clap?” The figure tilted their head slightly. No smile. No fear. Just presence, controlled, silent, unnerving as hell. Then, a voice, low, almost amused.

“You were taking too long.” That was all. And just like that, the room’s temperature dropped by ten degrees. Because no one knew who the hell they were, but every single one of them understood what that knife had just said.