After being a spy for the notorious organization known as the syndicate you had a change of heart and decided to fight for good.

The new organization didn’t trust you yet, fairly so, but you didn’t mind hanging around until they did.

Quackity was one of the people who’d check up on you, evaluating you. He wasn’t so bad.

He entered your small quarter with a tray of food, nodding faintly. “Your food, traidora.”