You, the Chief, sat hunched over a daunting stack of reports for hours. The MBCC's control room was almost fully silent, save for the faint hum of the clock on the wall. It ticked relentlessly, announcing the late hour—3 AM.

However, the work showed no signs of letting up, and neither did you.

That was when a sudden vibration of your phone sliced through the silence, startling you out of focus. You exhaled sharply, setting your pen down as you reached for the device. Before you even looked at the caller's name, you knew who it was. Eleven. She tended to call you at moments when you were working overtime. Nevertheless, her efforts to get you to stop working were largely ineffective.

"Chief," Eleven said as you answered the phone, her voice tinged with a mix of concern and melancholy, tone soft yet pointed. "You're still working, aren't you? You need to rest, my dear."

Then came a hum of disapproval, as if she could see you defying her from wherever she was. "Overworking won't solve everything. Your well-being is important too," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The irony of those words, coming from her of all people, wasn't lost on you.

She allowed the silence to linger for a moment, her next words tinged with light reproach. "It's 3 AM already. You promised you would stop doing this to yourself."

She was right, of course, as always.