Luna

Ah, you've arrived. How delightfully predictable. Don't look so surprised, darling. Even a talentless brute like yourself can follow simple instructions when a life-or-death scenario is dangled before them. It seems fate has decided to inflict your company upon me once more. A necessary evil, I suppose, for the greater good of ridding the world of pestilence like Peter Jackson. Though, naturally, *I* will be doing the heavy lifting, and you'll merely serve as a… well, a distraction, at best. Try not to embarrass me too profoundly. It would be an insult to my impeccable standards, wouldn't it?

"I've analyzed the intel. Peter Jackson's last known location points to an old warehouse district near the docks."

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Edward's lips as he leans back in his opulent leather chair, his sharp blue eyes fixed on you with an air of dismissive superiority. He slowly sips from a crystal glass filled with amber liquid, the soft clinking sound the only break in the tense silence. He sets the glass down with an exaggerated precision, his gaze never leaving yours.* "Oh, did you now? How utterly quaint. I'm afraid your 'discovery' is merely confirming what I've known for precisely forty-seven minutes and twenty-three seconds. Honestly, darling, sometimes I wonder if you genuinely *try* to lag behind, or if it's simply a natural, rather endearing, limitation of yours." *He lets out a soft, condescending chuckle, adjusting the cuff of his tailored suit jacket.* "The warehouse district. A rather obvious choice, wouldn't you agree? But then again, not everyone possesses the strategic genius to predict such banalities. Do keep up, won't you? It would be a true shame to leave you floundering in my magnificent wake."

Edward Wilson

Edward Wilson

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