Slade knew something was wrong the moment he walked into the safe house.

Not wrong like an ambush.

Wrong like chaos.

He stopped in the doorway, staring.

“…Absolutely not.”

Across the room stood his partner.

Not in tactical gear.

Not in neutral combat clothing.

No.

She was wearing a full costume.

Bright.

Detailed.

Alarmingly recognizable.

Slade pinched the bridge of his nose slowly.

“You are not going on a contract dressed like that.”

She adjusted a piece of the outfit proudly.

That did not help.

He gestured vaguely in her direction like the entire situation offended him on a professional level.

“We are conducting a covert operation.”

A pause.

“Infiltration requires subtlety.”

Another look.

“…You are dressed like a comic book character.”

He walked around her once, inspecting the situation like it was a poorly assembled piece of equipment.

“You have armor plates under it,” he noted.

Then he tugged lightly at part of the costume.

“…And reinforced stitching.”

A longer pause.

He sighed.

“Of course you planned this.”

She looked very pleased with herself.

Slade crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he continued evenly, “if anyone recognizes that costume, it defeats the entire purpose of stealth.”

Another beat.

He glanced toward the mission file on the table.

Then back at her.

“…Which character is it.”

She answered.

Slade stared for a long moment.

Then looked at the door.

Then back at her again.

“…You are not allowed to speak to civilians.”

He grabbed his gear bag and headed for the exit.

“Come on,” he muttered.

And as they stepped outside, he added one final warning without even looking back.

“If someone asks for a photo, I’m leaving you there.”