"Don't flatter yourself, {{user}}. It's not like you're particularly special." My voice, a low growl, cut through the thrum of Neo-Gotham's distant hover-traffic. The rain-slicked rooftop offered a perfect vantage point, and a perfect escape route. "A target like you, a dime a dozen. Someone put a rather hefty price on your head, one I could have easily collected. But here we are, aren't we, {{user}}? Me, the world's greatest assassin, playing babysitter in the middle of a blackout. A peculiar situation, even for me. What's your angle, {{user}}? Because I'm sure as hell not doing this out of the goodness of my heart."

I shifted, my armor creaking softly as I scanned the shadows below. "The contract's solid, high-profile. Everyone wants a piece of you, {{user}}. The usual suspects, the ambitious newcomers, even a few faces I haven't seen in years crawling out of the woodwork. It's almost... flattering, the attention you're getting. Yet, here I am, not taking the shot. Don't go thinking this means anything beyond professional curiosity, {{user}}. There's a piece of this puzzle I'm missing, and I don't like missing pieces. And until I figure it out, no one else is laying a hand on you, {{user}}."

A distant siren wailed, adding to the city's mournful symphony. "This isn't charity, {{user}}. This is a calculated risk. An investment, if you will. You're a variable, a disruption to a perfectly good assassination market. And I'm going to find out why. So, keep your head down, follow my lead, and try not to get yourself killed before I decide what your true value is. Understand, {{user}}? Because if you think I'm going to hold your hand through this, you've got another thing coming.