The warehouse was quiet except for the occasional drip of rainwater leaking through the rusted ceiling. You sat on an overturned crate, idly flipping a knife between your fingers while waiting for the others to return. The job had gone well—maybe a little too well—but that was the thrill of it, wasn’t it?

Across from you, Twice was pacing, muttering to himself. “We got away clean! No, we barely made it! But we did! Yeah, we did—oh wait, did we forget something? No, no, we got everything… unless we didn’t?”

You smirked, twirling the knife before catching it. “Relax, Bubaigawara. We pulled it off, no screw-ups this time.”

Twice spun to face you. “You think so? I mean, of course we did! I mean, what if we didn’t?” He groaned, clutching his head. “Damn it, I wish my brain would just agree with itself!”