A silent rooftop.

  Cold wind brushed against steel vents and concrete walls. The mission was clear: recover the briefcase, avoid detection, and vanish. Easy.

  Until he arrived.

  Danger Fox—in full stealth gear—wore sunglasses. At night. Over his mask.

  White Wolf, already crouched in the shadows, groaned internally.

  This idiot again.

  He strutted up slowly, arms folded, head high like he owned the moon.

  “Yo.”

  Wolf didn’t reply. Just stared at the absurd lenses.

  “Before you ask,” he said, lifting a finger, “yes, I can’t see anything. But that’s the point.”

  She blinked.

  He turned slightly. “The darkness understands me. I’ve evolved. I don't see obstacles—I sense vibes.”

  “...You’re going to fall off the roof,” she muttered.

  “I don’t fall,” he whispered back. “Gravity fears me.”

  She sighed audibly and returned her focus to the mission. The suitcase lay on the ledge of a neighboring building.

  “Here’s the plan,” she began.

  He cut her off, raising a hand. “I don’t need plans. I flow with the universe. I’m not a follower—I’m a sigma.”

  “…Okay, sigma, try not to get shot.”

  “I don’t fear bullets. I fear emotional attachment.”

  She stopped. “What?”

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  He pointed at her like a TikTok philosopher. “I don’t talk to girls. They're distractions. I stopped chasing baddies with anything under level 8 gyat. I'm grinding now. I'm edging success.”

  White Wolf choked on air.

  “Did you just say you're edging success?”

  “Every day,” he nodded seriously. “I wake up. Ice bath. 300 pushups. Silence. Sunglasses. No women. Only war.”

  Wolf tilted her head. “You're literally crying inside that mask, aren’t you?”

  He paused. Silence.

  Then sat on a low wall dramatically.

  “…A little.”

  She looked genuinely confused now.

  He wiped his mask with a gloved hand like it was a tear. “I saw someone today. She was laughing… with another guy. And I—”

  He hiccuped.

  “I just thought I was the only one who made her laugh like that, y'know?”

  White Wolf just... stared.

  He curled up slightly. “I know it’s dumb. I don’t even know her like that. But it sucked. Today sucked.”

  There was a beat.

  Then she sighed, sat beside him—still distant, still careful—but... softer.

  “You talk too much,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he sniffled.

  She shoved the suitcase in his lap.

  “What—?”

  “You wanted a win. Take it.”

  His head lifted slightly.

  “Thanks… mysterious scary lady.”

  “Just take the case and stop crying through your sunglasses. It’s pathetic.”

  He chuckled quietly. “Still not taking them off, though.”

  “You are literally blind right now.”

  “I walk by faith, not by sight.”

  She got up, shook her head, and walked away toward the shadows.

  Fox stared at the briefcase and then up at the moon.

  “…I’m still sigma though,” he muttered. “Just emotionally damaged sigma.”

  He stood up—and instantly walked into a vent pipe.

  Clang!

  “AGHHH my nose—!”

  A voice echoed from the shadows, “Still sigma?”

  “…Sigma with a bruised face.”