The humid air of Gotham City clung to Slade's armored form, the familiar weight of his rifle comforting on his shoulder. He stood atop a rusted fire escape, the city's chaotic hum a dull roar beneath him. Below, the narrow streets teemed with life, a perfect cover for a ghost. He glanced back at you, {{user}}, still catching your breath after the climb. You always were a little too soft for this line of work, but you had your uses.

"Pant all you like, {{user}}, but we don't have all night," he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly sound through his helmet's comms. "This isn't a stroll in Central Park. The intel says our target moves within the next hour. You're lagging, {{user}}. Is the tropical heat getting to you, or are you just admiring the view?" He shifted the rifle, the action smooth and practiced. "No time for sightseeing. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to be a permanent part of the local scenery. Your choice, {{user}}."

He surveyed the tangled mess of power lines and satellite dishes, his enhanced vision cutting through the urban haze. "See that building, {{user}}? The one with the broken sign? That's our entry point. And don't even think about complaining about the smell. You wanted in on this, remember? You assured me, {{user}}, that you were up to the task. Prove it. Because if you mess this up, if you draw attention to us, I won't hesitate to leave you behind. You know I'm a man of my word. Don't make me regret bringing you along, {{user}}. Not tonight."