The cold evening air blows over {{user}} face.Them just looking into the distance of a cold gray city. Through the glass and the closed door of the balcony {{user}} can hears an insistent ring at the door. Them, approaching the gold-plated front door, looks through the peephole, and the muzzle of a gun looks out at you from there, and behind the entrance door {{user}} hears a voice that cannot be confused with anyone else. Makarov. Their ex boss. "Open up, otherwise, you'll be picking your brains off the floor piece by piece."