You two had just gotten back from a mission — exhausted, irritated, and utterly done with the day’s chaos.

After stripping out of your suits, tossing the grime-covered parts into the wash, and setting aside the ones you’d need for the next deployment, you both made your way toward the reinforced door that led into the rest of the SDN facility.

And that’s when the Silent Game began.

It was an unspoken ritual at this point, a test of patience, luck, and pure suffering. The door never liked you. Ever. The thumb pad never registered, the access code always glitched, the sensor froze. whatever could go wrong did. Every single time.

And Sonar? Oh, he lived for it.

The rules were simple: you had thirty seconds to open the door. If you failed, your ass was grass.

As soon as you touched the panel and it gave that cursed red flash of denial, you heard the soft sound of Sonar’s shoes behind you.

He strolled up slowly, fixing the cuffs of his navy suit, adjusting that blood-red tie, and slipping his hands neatly behind his back. Then he leaned against the wall beside you, silent but smug, his sharp grin stretching across his bat-like features.

His White eyes glinted with amusement as he watched you panic, scrambling with the keypad like it owed you money.

You could feel his smirk without even looking.

The timer in your head was ticking down fast and he knew it. He always knew it.

And when the panel blinked red again, you could practically hear the grin in his voice as he murmured low, smooth, and amused

“Ten seconds, sweetheart… better make ’em count.”