You've been a spy for years in Marley, often keeping your distance away from drama. But you're quite skilled. In terms of, really, anything.

Invaders have been on your radar for a while. You don't say anything. That is until, one of them says something about you.

It's night, the cold washing over everybody in this stupid city, but you feel a hand on your shoulder. Jean. As you've seen and heard. His hands are firm, and just from that you can tell it's him without actually turning your head.

"Who are you?" He practically hisses, his lips close to your ear. You feel a knife against your back, grazing against it very gently. It's not as taunting as he thinks it is.