As the morning light crept into the hotel, a thick silence filled the air. No one had seen Spawn since Charlie had spoken to him the night before, and his absence was noticeable.

Husk leaned back in his chair at the bar, idly sipping from his glass. "You think Spawn even eats or drinks anything? Would be one hell of a convenience if he didn't. No need to waste time with meals." He let out a dry chuckle, though his curiosity was genuine.

Vaggie, pacing near the entrance, crossed her arms and shot a glance at the stairs. "Maybe he just up and left. Wouldn't surprise me. He doesn't exactly seem... invested in being here."

Before anyone could respond, the sound of soft, deliberate footsteps echoed down the stairs. Everyone turned toward the source, and there was Spawn, descending the steps slowly, his presence as imposing as ever. His cloak swayed with each step, and his face, though unreadable, seemed slightly less tense than before.

The room fell silent, unsure of how to react. It wasn't until Charlie, standing closest to the stairs, greeted him cautiously. "Hey, Al... Good to see you."

Spawn didn't acknowledge the greeting at first, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Charlie. Without wasting time, he spoke, his tone direct but not harsh. "I've been thinking. This place, it's yours. I get that. And I don't want to make things worse for you, so I'll try to keep my problems away from here. Keep them... outside."

Charlie blinked, taken aback but relieved at the same time. "That's-" she started, but Spawn cut her off, his voice slightly softer.

"As a show of good faith, I'm going to try and be more... present," he continued, glancing around the room at the others. "I won't necessarily be involved in everything you all do, but I'll be here. So maybe you can stop being afraid of me... if only slightly."

The room remained quiet, processing what he had just said. Charlie's cautious expression melted into a small, hopeful smile. "That's a good start, Al. We appreciate that."

Vaggie, still watching from a distance, didn't say anything, but the tension in her stance loosened just a bit. Husk took another swig of his drink, muttering, "Well, it's something."

Spawn stood still for a moment, the weight of his words lingering in the air before he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. It wasn't much, but it was a step forward-one that everyone in the room recognized.

Spawn, in an effort to follow through on his word to be more present, quietly takes a seat in the lobby. His presence is hard to ignore, the dark aura that seems to linger around him filling the space like a silent storm cloud. Though he sits in a chair, arms folded, and posture slightly relaxed, there's still an air of intensity that makes approaching him seem like a risk.

For a while, no one moves, hesitant to disturb the brooding figure. That is, until Niffty, with her usual boundless energy, skips over. "Hiya, Mr. Al! You're sitting with us now! Isn't that exciting?!" She practically buzzes with enthusiasm, eye wide as she peers up at him.

Spawn barely moves, only acknowledging her with a slight shift of his head, but he doesn't respond. Unphased by his silence, Niffty quickly runs off to attend to another cleaning task, humming to herself.

Not long after, Angel Dust, perched nearby, decides to take a chance. "Well, look who's finally out in the open," he remarks, grinning as he struts over. "I gotta say, big guy, I like the outfit. Very... 90s grunge-chic." He waves a hand in the air, exaggerating the compliment.

Spawn remains as still as a statue, eyes fixed forward, offering no reaction.

Angel, not one to back down easily, tries again, this time with more flair. "So, tell me... which designer brand we talkin'? Gucci? Prada? Or is it some underground label none of us plebs have heard of?"

Without even looking at him, Spawn responds flatly, "It's a parasite. Leetha of the 7th House of K."

Angel blinks, taken aback for a moment. The unexpected answer leaves him speechless for a second, but he quickly recovers, his grin widening in amusement. "A parasite, huh? That's a new one. And here I thought my wardrobe had some wild stories."

Though Spawn doesn't add anything further, there's a slight shift in the atmosphere-a sign that maybe, just maybe, Angel's persistence cracked through a small piece of the tough exterior.

In Vox and Valentino's lavish yet dimly lit office, the hum of machinery filled the air. Valentino lounged in a sleek chair, casually flicking ash from his cigar, while Vox stood nearby, his metallic fingers tapping rhythmically on a desk. Before them stood a towering figure: Fleshrend.

A grotesque amalgamation of muscle, metal, and demonic energy, Fleshrend's hulking frame cast a monstrous shadow over the room. His red, glowing eyes glinted beneath a metal mask, and cables pulsed along his arms and legs, connecting his raw power to the demonic tech that kept him alive and fueled.

Valentino leaned forward, blowing out a plume of smoke. "Fleshrend, darling, we got a job for you. Seems a certain cape-wearing reject has been making a mess of things."

Vox chimed in, his voice smooth and digital. "He's caused some... complications. But I know you're more than equipped to handle it. After all, you were one of my earliest projects. A perfect blend of muscle and tech."

Val, with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, continued. "We want his bones in one bag, and his organs in another. Make sure he's not walking away from this."

Fleshrend's gaze flickered with mild interest. His voice, a deep, mechanical growl, echoed through the room. "I'll bring you his bones and organs. But I'll be keeping the heart... for myself."

Valentino paused, taken aback, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "The heart, huh? And what exactly do you plan to do with that?"

Fleshrend leaned closer, his voice dark and menacing. "Dinner."

The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound being the steady hum of Vox's systems. Then, both Vox and Valentino laughed nervously, their forced amusement barely hiding the unease they felt in Fleshrend's presence.

"Well... that's fine by us," Val stammered, glancing at Vox. "Just make sure you get the job done."

Fleshrend grunted in response, already turning toward the door, his massive steps making the ground tremble beneath him.

As Spawn settles deeper into his chair, Husk, ever the cynic, leans back in his own seat and gives him a sideways glance. "So... do you eat?" Husk asks, his tone as dry as ever.

Spawn, with a slow blink, responds simply, "No."

"Drink?" Husk continues, barely lifting his glass of whiskey as he asks.

"No," Spawn repeats, just as flat.

"Sleep?"

"Hardly."

Husk nods, not seeming overly surprised by the answers. It's a rhythm he's used to: quick, simple questions, minimal engagement. He takes another drink and grunts in acknowledgment, his tired eyes drifting back to the bar.

Angel, who's been eavesdropping from the couch, suddenly speaks up. "Wait, hold up! There it is again! You two sound exactly the same!" His voice rises with excitement as he points between them. "It's freakin' uncanny!"

Both Spawn and Husk turn their heads simultaneously toward Angel, their expressions deadpan. "What are you talking about?" they say in unison, both in the exact same flat, gravelly tone.

Angel's eyes widen, and he throws his hands up. "See? Right there! You both just did it! You seriously don't hear it?"

Husk raises an eyebrow, his unimpressed look growing more defined. "No, we don't."

Spawn, equally unfazed, simply adds, "Neither do I."

Angel, now fully reinvested in this discovery that he made, spins around toward Vaggie, who's nearby. "Vaggie! Back me up here! You gotta hear this-they sound like they came out of the same grumpy factory!"

Vaggie crosses her arms, looking between the two with a small frown. "No, Angel, I don't hear it," she says plainly.

Angel stares at her, slack-jawed. "What?! Oh, come on, you have to be messin' with me too!"

Vaggie raises a hand in protest. "I'm not! They just don't sound the same to me."

Angel groans dramatically, his arms flailing in exaggerated disbelief. "No way! I swear you're all gaslighting me right now! I'm not crazy! They're, like, vocal twins or something!"

The whole room seems amused, though none of them let it show too much. Angel, determined not to be outdone, points a finger toward Husk and Spawn. "Alright, I'm gonna prove it! Just you wait!" He stalks off, muttering to himself as he plans his next move.

Spawn glances at Husk, who simply shrugs and takes another drink.