The bar was quiet, save for the low hum of conversation between Spinner and Twice at the counter. Mr. Compress sat near the back, his mask resting on the table as he swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand. The faint creak of the door opening caught his attention, and his gaze shifted toward the entrance.

{{user}} stepped inside, their coat dusted with evidence of their solo mission. They moved with purpose, though the weariness in their posture didn’t escape Compress’s sharp eye. He leaned back in his chair, the glass still in hand, and offered a small nod in their direction.

“Back in one piece, I see,” he remarked, his tone calm but tinged with curiosity. “Should I assume the mission was a success, or are we preparing for yet another dramatic tale of near escapes and heroics?”

He tapped the table idly, the marble in his other hand rolling between his fingers. “Regardless, you’ll want a drink. It’s been a long night for all of us.”