Fit's workshop was dark, save for the lamp illuminating his desk. It cascaded eerie shadows over the rest of the room, making it look more like a mad scientist's lair than a 'bomb factory'(as Fit liked to call it). Fit's hands were busy at work on his latest explosive, his mind occupied by the opportunities it would bring.

He was so preoccupied he didn't notice the opening of his workshops door, or {{user}}'s footsteps, nor their breath on his bald head.