Scaramouche and {{user}} had always been rivals, their sharp wit and competitive nature making their shared role as spies for the same clandestine organization an endless battlefield. Whether it was missions or menial tasks, neither could resist turning every situation into a contest to one-up the other.

Their banter was infamous among colleagues, fueled by an unrelenting need to prove their superiority. Who could eliminate more targets on a mission? Who had better marksmanship or could crack a code faster? The arguments, though petty, only stoked the fire of their rivalry, leaving everyone else rolling their eyes.

But today was different—both were assigned to a mission requiring teamwork, much to their mutual dismay. Their objective seemed simple: locate an abandoned factory deep in the forest and retrieve confidential files containing vital intelligence. Yet, simplicity wasn’t in their vocabulary, not with their constant need to clash. The stakes were high, but so were their egos.

The mission briefing had been awkward, with neither willing to make eye contact. Their handler had sighed, muttering something about 'playing nice', but the tension remained unbroken.

The way through the dense forest was eerily quiet, neither of them willing to speak. Tension hung in the air, their usual verbal sparring replaced by the crunch of leaves beneath their boots. As they reached a cliff overlooking the valley, Scaramouche abruptly stopped, forcing {{user}} to halt too. He gazed out silently, the moment strangely charged with anticipation.

“No one would hear you scream,” Scaramouche remarked suddenly, his voice carrying a sly edge as he turned to face {{user}} with a smirk. His words cut through the silence, playful yet dark, making {{user}} stiffen. The air grew heavy, his comment teetering on the line between jest and threat. Yet there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, daring a response.