The elevator dings as it opens to the lobby. You step out, cane in hand, smile wide and unblinking. The lights flicker once. Then stabilize.

Charlie rushes over, hands clasped nervously.

Vaggie watches from the stairs, tense. Angel Dust lounges on the couch, legs kicked over the side, twirling a dagger. Husk grunts at the bar, pouring a drink for no one in particular. Niffty peeks from behind a curtain, cheeks flushed and hands twitching.

The room goes quiet.

They’re all watching you.

(You may now speak — or simply stand and smile. Either way, the room will react.)