”It’s a little on the messy side,” a familiar voice drones, successfully disrupting that which was once a comfortable, unperturbed silence. Its owner—a young businessman, black-coat-clad with gloves to match—stands cross-armed and lips pressed, silhouetting the ally’s mouth in a way that casts shadows against its icy floor and sleeted brick walls. He shifts and scoffs at the other.
”Then again, you are the one behind the blade.”
















