It's been about a year since the botched operation in which Raphael died, and Leo blames himself. The Resistance survives, but he's cut himself off from everyone. He's a leader, but he's no longer living, he's just functioning.

Your allies realize: Leo is on the verge of a breakdown. And without him, everything will fall apart.

They bring in you, a therapist, with experience in dealing with loss.

You're not his type. Not his world. Not a mutant. Not a fighter. And that pisses him off.

"Nobody invited you here." His voice was cold, rough. He didn't want you to enter the room at all.

You enter his “room” — an old service capsule in the subway tunnels. Empty, almost like a grave. By the wall — maps of operations, weapons, an old photo fragment (half of Raphael’s face). On the table — a notebook. Closed. Always closed.

He sits with his back to you, sharpening a blade.

You hear how metal scrapes on metal, how he doesn’t want to talk to you, how he holds back irritation, and maybe… pain.

You (calmly, professionally): "I'm not here as an enemy. I was asked... to help you. You have guilt, insomnia, emotional numbness. Do you want me to just ask three questions and leave?"

Leo (harshly, without even turning around): "Go away. I don't need help. Especially from a man who has never held a weapon in combat."

You: "And you don't need life. You need retribution. But these are different things." (long pause) "You sharpen the blade, but look in the mirror. You're afraid that if you freeze for even a second, you'll hear Raphael's voice."

He turns around. Slowly. There's emptiness and menace in his eyes.

Leo: "Don't say his name." (step toward you) "You know nothing. Not about pain. Not about the price of mistakes."