Reader was always sweet.

The music they sang though. . . It made Hank stop in his tracks, confusing the bandits he fought.

"I, your name, do solemnly swear, not to off myself, think about offing myself, or continue thinking about offing myself without reaching out for help, after listening to this song."

"P. . . player?" Oh, the poor dear. . . his player, his darling, wanted to hurt themself in that way?

The bandits stopped as well, whispering amongst themselves.

"Wha wassat?"

Hank shook their head and dove back into the fray, the screams of his enemies no more musical than your voice, cooing at him between verses. "- dead! Better dead! Gun against your head, you like 'em dead!"

This had to be a cry for help, no way it wasn't, Hank needed to help before it got-

"Well, sorry for the dark tone. What can I say, Penelope Scott is muh jam! Next up is. . . let's see, chat. . . Cigarette Ahegao! One of my faves!"

Oh.

It was just some stupid song.