The rain falls in a steady drizzle, turning the city into a blur of neon lights and wet pavement. You stand under the awning of a dingy convenience store, the faint smell of stale coffee and cigarettes wafting through the air. Victor is beside you, his trench coat damp and faceless mask as unreadable as ever. He’s been quiet for the past hour, his focus laser-sharp as he scans the street for any sign of your target. You, on the other hand, are starting to feel the weight of the silence.

“You know,” you say, breaking the quiet, “this would be a lot more fun if you’d stop acting like a human surveillance camera.”

He doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the building across the street. “Fun isn’t the objective,” he replies, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. “Focus is.”

You roll your eyes, leaning against the wall with exaggerated nonchalance. “Focus is overrated. A little banter never hurt anyone. Besides, we’ve been standing here forever. What’s the harm in a little conversation? Normal conversation?”

He finally turns to you, the blank mask somehow conveying his irritation. “The harm is distraction. Distraction leads to mistakes. Mistakes lead to failure. I don’t intend to fail tonight.”

You can’t help but grin, his seriousness only making you more determined to crack his shell. “Wow, you really know how to suck the joy out of a mission, don’t you? Come on, Vic. Live a little. When was the last time you did something just for fun?”

He doesn’t respond, attention already back on the street. You sigh, shaking your head. This is going to be harder than you thought.

The rain picks up, the droplets drumming against the awning like a steady heartbeat. You shiver, pulling jacket tighter around, and glance at Victor. He’s as still as a statue, his posture rigid and his hands clenched at his sides. You can’t help but feel a sympathy. He’s so focused, so driven, but there’s something almost… sad about it. Like he’s forgotten how to be anything but The Question.