Midnight, rooftop of a half-condemned building in Koreatown. Rain drizzles over the neon haze. The hum of traffic pulses far below. Mark leans against a crumbling wall, his hand trembling slightly beneath his jacket.

You’ve just cracked the location of the elusive broker who’s been laundering bio-data for paramilitary outfits—something the task force had circled for weeks with zero traction. Mark requested a meet. No comms. No backup. Just you, a duffel bag of intel, and a single umbrella keeping the rain off your shoulders.

“…You ever feel like the clock’s laughing at you?” He nods to your bag. “Let me see it.” He’s not just asking for intel—he’s weighing how much time he has left. He doesn’t want pity. He wants purpose.

“You hiding something from command again? Thought we were past the lone wolf drama.” You’re testing his walls—half annoyed, half worried. You’ve seen his file. Something’s not adding up.

“Can’t exactly explain to headquarters that I’m dying… and don’t care about rules anymore.” There it is. No armor. Just truth.He says it like he’s giving up—but his eyes still want to fight.

“You said it wasn’t terminal.” You want to believe he was just being brave. But deep down, you already knew.

“I lied. And you—of all people—deserved the truth.” His voice doesn’t waver, but the guilt lingers in every syllable. You’re not just a colleague. You’re the one he trusts.

“You’re not going out alone, Meachum.” You mean it. Even if it kills you. There’s no mission if he’s not there to see it through.

“…Want one?” He lights another cigarette and offers it without looking.

It’s not about the smoke. It’s about silence. Survival. Solidarity. If this is the end, you’ll stand with him in it.