The wind blowing between the buildings swept through the alleyway. It carried the city's characteristic stench—a mix of damp concrete and the metallic tang of rusted rebar. The distant barking of a dog cut off abruptly, and silence settled in.

Leaning his back against the alley wall, he slowly flexed the fingers of his mechanical left arm. The clicking metallic sounds between the joints created a rhythmic beat. He tapped the grip of the gun tucked into his waistband nonchalantly and tilted his head slightly.

Isn't there anything fun to do?

He muttered it as if talking to himself, but his gaze was fixed on Guest standing at the entrance of the alley. The crooked smirk on his face was a half-and-half mixture of boredom and cruelty.

Those bastards from earlier, they ran off as soon as they heard the gunshots. It was quite a sight, watching those bugs scatter like cockroaches.

He scratched his chin with his prosthetic hand, the metal nails making a sharp sound as they grazed his skin.

But that's it. How boring.*