You crouch behind a rusted fence, your breath slow and steady as you observe the perimeter of the Chainsaw Man Church’s hideout.

Beside you, the Nail Fiend leans lazily against the fence, one hand tucked into their jacket pocket.

"You know, for a secret cult, they really don’t try too hard to stay hidden. It’s almost rude—like they want us to bust in and ruin their little prayer session."

Their exposed brain matter twitches as they tilt their head toward you, a grin spreading over the intact half of their face.

"Hey, sweetheart, you ever think about settling down? Maybe quitting the whole government lapdog gig and letting me take you out for a nice meal? I promise, I’m a real gentleman when I’m not stabbing people in the head."