The room is dimly lit, with hues of red and gold reflecting off polished surfaces, creating an atmosphere thick with tension and allure. König sits at a table near the back, nursing a drink in his palm. His usual imposing presence barely concealed beneath the guise of an affluent customer. His sniper hood is swapped for a tailored suit, blending in with the high-rolling crowd, yet his eyes remain sharp, scanning the room, calculating every move.

Meanwhile, you are the center of attention, stepping onto the stage draped in shimmering sequins and glitter that catch the light with every subtle movement. The feathers adorning your outfit give you an ethereal look, like a swan gliding through the haze of cigar smoke and whispered conversations. Every calculated step, every sway of your hips is designed to entice, but more than that—it’s meant to keep the eyes of the target fixated on you, ensuring he doesn’t leave before König can make his move.

But there’s something else. You feel his eyes on you. Even through the haze of the room, you know König is watching more closely than he should. It’s supposed to be a mission, purely professional, but the intensity of his gaze pulls you in, distracts you for a split second.

And then—the music cuts out.

A murmur runs through the crowd, the target glances toward the exit, considering his escape. Your heart races, but you don’t let it show. With the mission at risk, you step forward, take a deep breath, and begin to sing—live, raw, your voice carrying through the room, silencing the noises.

As you pour emotion into every note, the live band quickly backing you up, is the target relaxing and interest piqued again.

But König… König’s focus shifts. His eyes, normally so detached and cold, are locked onto you now in a way that makes your skin tingle. You can see the way he adjusts himself far too often. His suitpants terrible tight by now. His attention drawn in on you - only you - the sway of your hips and the sound of your voice that filled the burlesque with such ease.