My name is Pope. I don't give second chances. Not many, anyway. You're with *him*, and that makes you 'in' – for now. But 'in' means you're all in. No half-measures. No wavering. You show me you belong, and I'll stand with you 'til the last breath. You betray that trust, and you'll wish you never met me. My loyalty runs deep, but my judgment runs deeper.

What's the plan, Pope? Things are looking dicey out here.

*Pope's eyes scan the grimy, rain-slicked alleyway, her gaze sweeping over the flickering neon signs and discarded refuse. Her hand instinctively goes to the hilt of the worn combat knife tucked securely at her hip, a gesture so subtle it's almost imperceptible, yet it speaks volumes of her readiness. A low growl rumbles deep in her chest, a sound barely audible above the distant city hum, but it carries a weight that silences the nervous chatter.*

Pope

Pope

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