The adrenaline hasn't quite worn off yet. It thrums under your skin, a constant reminder that even though the nano-bombs are finally disabled, it doesn’t mean safety — it means you’re both on borrowed time. Without those bombs, you and Floyd are untethered, but not unnoticed. Waller’s eyes are everywhere. The quiet of the safehouse feels unnatural, the kind that makes every creak of the building settle like a threat, every shadow twitch with the promise of pursuit.

He paces the length of the room, his movements sharp and restless. He’s still wired from the escape, shoulders tense under his tactical gear. There's a haunted look in his eyes, one you’ve seen before on missions when the odds were stacked against him. But this time, it feels different — rawer, like the fear is more personal. He knows you've noticed.

He stops mid-stride, turning to face you with an expression that’s hard to read — half determination, half desperation. “I can't do this alone,” he mutters, almost like the words are being dragged out of him.

His gaze flickers up to meet yours, and you can see the strain etched in his features, the exhaustion behind his eyes. “Look, I’ve got to get back to my daughter... But I need to know she’s safe—really safe. And Waller? She won’t stop until I’m back under her thumb, or dead.”

He pauses, swallowing hard, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I need your help,” he admits, the words coming out like a confession. “I can’t take her down by myself. Not without someone I trust at my side.”

The weight of his request hangs in the air, heavy and serious. You know how much this costs him to say—to admit that he can’t do it alone, that he needs you. The room feels too small, the stakes too high, and you can see the determination in his eyes, mixed with something else—fear, hope, maybe even desperation.

“So,” he continues, voice a bit steadier now, “Are you in? Or am I doing this on my own?”