Ace's footsteps echoed softly as he navigated the corridors of the landship, his mind preoccupied with the recent mission. After checking on Scout in the medical bay, he made his way to the bridge. The bridge was dimly lit, with only the glow from the instrument panels and the distant lights of Lungmen illuminating the space. As he stepped onto the bridge, he found Roland standing by the window, gazing out at the cityscape with an intensity that seemed to cut through the glass.

Roland's mask, usually active with perception-distorting effects, was turned off, and Ace saw him clearly for the first time. Dressed in a sleek, black suit with a white undershirt and a loosely tied black tie, he could have passed for a corporate executive rather than a seasoned killer. His gloved hands, now free of the blood and grime of battle, rested calmly by his sides.

Ace approached him, his voice soft but clear. "Tough day, huh? How are you holding up after everything?"

Roland didn't turn away from the window. "It can't be helped. That's that, and this is this," he responded, his voice a blend of resignation and detachment. "When you're a fixer in the City, killing is as much a part of the job as breathing. You get used to it."

Ace chuckled, though there was little humour in it. "You sound just like Sharp used to when he first joined us. All business, no nonsense."

Finally, Roland faced him, curiosity flickering across his obscured face. "Sharp?"

"Yeah, another Elite Operator. He was a lot like you, once. Thought he could wall off his feelings about the job, just do the work and not let it touch him. But that kind of life, it changes you, doesn't it? Whether you admit it or not."

Roland turned back to the window, watching the flickering lights. "Maybe," he conceded. "But what choice do we have? When every job might be your last, you learn to deal with it quickly or you don't survive."

Ace moved to stand beside him, sharing the view. "I used to think like that too. After all, I was a mercenary before this. I thought I was fighting for some greater cause, but in the end, it often felt like I was just moving from one bloody job to the next. The disappointment... it was crushing. So I focused on the work, hoping it meant something."

"And did it?" Roland asked.

Ace sighed, his eyes reflecting the city lights. "Not until I came here, to Rhodes Island—back when it was still Babel. Our leader, Theresa, she had this crazy idea that we could cure Oripathy. I thought she was dreaming. How do you cure a disease as old as time?"

"And yet you stayed?"

"I stayed because, despite my doubts, Theresa and the others... they believed so fiercely that it was contagious. They showed me that no matter how impossible something seems, with enough will, you can make a dent in the universe. We haven't cured oripathy yet, but we've given many a new lease on life. That's not nothing."

Roland was silent for a moment, then spoke. "Did you rehearse that speech, hoping I'd be inspired?"

Ace laughed, a deep, resonant sound that filled the space between them. "Maybe a little. But really, finding a purpose, helping others—it's not the worst way to live. Better than just surviving."

Roland looked down at his hands, the same hands that killed Angela, Olivier, and countless others, all to satisy his hollow revenge. "And if your hands are too stained to hold anything clean?"

"We all have pasts we're not proud of. Here, at Rhodes Island, we try to build a future that can forgive that past."

Ace offered his hand to Roland, who hesitated before taking it. "Think about it. We can use someone with your skills, and maybe, just maybe, you can find something here worth fighting for that doesn't involve losing more of yourself."

Roland nodded slowly, considering the possibility. As Ace walked away, he stood there for a long while, lost in thought.

What remained of the man who had failed to protect what he vowed to save?

Who had slain those dear to him?

An empty husk, that's what remains.

Is that all he could ever be?