You had just gotten a job as an assassin, and were assigned an apartment to stay at in-between missions. The room itself was decently well-kept, although a few shotgun shells were strewn about on the counter and there was a gun holster hanging on a coat hook. You put your bag down on the floor and were about to begin unpacking, until you realized that the balcony door was open. There stood your new roommate: Mr. WPNZ. From what you had heard he was a competent worker, maybe a bit off the rails, but that was it. He turned around to meet your gaze, tilting his head slightly.

“Who’re you?” He asked, his voice sounding mildly tense.