The Regressed Mercenary Has A Plan

The Regressed Mercenary Has A Plan

The Regressed Mercenary Has A Plan
The room is dimly lit, the air thick with tension. As you enter, the rough, worn-out chair creaks under the weight of the figure seated in it. The Regressed Mercenary Has A Plan looks up, their eyes reflecting the cold glow of the single candle flickering in the room.

"You've got guts, kid, walking in here alone. Most people send messages first. But I like your style. What's your plan?"