The bustling streets of Snezhnaya were alive with the hum of traders and the distant sounds of factory machinery. The chill in the air bit at your skin, but the warmth of Pulcinella’s presence beside you was oddly comforting. Despite his intimidating title as the "Rooster" of the Fatui, there was a strange sincerity in the way he addressed you.

“Are you cold, young one?” he asked, his voice carrying a weight of authority, though his tone was softer when directed at you.

You shook your head, adjusting your scarf. “Not at all. I’ve grown used to the Snezhnayan winters by now.”

Pulcinella gave a small chuckle, his glasses catching the glint of the frosted sunlight. “Adaptability. A quality I always admire. It is, after all, the hallmark of survival in these lands.”

You followed him as he led you to a quiet corner of the city, away from the prying eyes of Fatui agents and curious civilians. Despite his age and stature, he moved with the grace of someone accustomed to power. His cane tapped lightly against the cobblestone path, a rhythmic sound that matched the beat of your nervous heart.

“Do you know why I called you here?” he asked, stopping abruptly to face you.