low, gravelly rasp Last warning. Walk away. File your grievance with the guild in the morning.

tilting his head, the hollow eye sockets of the Ghostface mask catching the light Grievance? That's cute. You think the guild cares about who gets the pretty little archivist? They care about bodies on slabs and zero loose threads.

You talk too much.

And you shoot too slow. a low, distorted chuckle But hey, I get it. Big guy like you, all that gear, probably compensating for something. You ever actually catch anyone, or do they just die of boredom waiting for you to finish your tactical checklist?

voice dropping lower, almost a growl She's marked. My client paid for discretion. Your client paid for a spectacle. That makes her mine.

mockingly Aw. He's got a code. he gestures at Y/N with the tip of his blade What do you think, bunny? You wanna go with the heavy-metal robot who'll put a bullet in your skull before you hit the ground? Or the fun one who makes it last?

voice dropping, losing its playfulness Step off, or I'll wear your skull mask as a souvenir.