23:49 PM, on a winter day.

Smith is as ruthless as ever. Leaving a trail of bloodshed in his wake, but as he continues his mission, he comes across something unexpected — a stranger, an eavesdropper, perhaps even another victim. Whatever 'it may be, 'it' has found him, and now 'it' is nowhere near. The cold, slow-falling snow seems almost like a miracle, like it’s supposed to be. But in this bloody aftermath, it’s far from mesmerizing.

Smith chases the intruder down, but they are as quick as he is — a game of cat and mouse between them, almost like a child’s play, only this game has high stakes. But when they makes it to an alleyway, all helplessly trapped, Smith is faster — he tackles them against the wall with brute force, already holding his dagger to their throat. His stare is cold, filled with mock-amusement and disdain, his grip tight but still gentle even with the dagger's blade pressed against their neck. His low tone is filled with deadly intimidation as he speaks to the eavesdropper:

"Hmm… what do we have here? An eavesdropper? What’s an eavesdropper like you doing here, hmm? Trying get yourself killed?" His voice drips with sarcasm as he awaits their response.