The subway air vent was colder than a fridge door left open, carrying the taste of damp rust. Ethan sat on a bench, twirling a bullet between his fingers like loose change.
Gray Fox leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp with "will you pull a gun on me?"
The tension was thicker than the cheap whiskey fumes.
"So," Ethan finally said with a crooked grin, "are we fugitive brothers again—or temporary enemies keeping score? I need to know, or I'll have to tie myself up before bed."
Gray Fox narrowed his eyes. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be talking."
"True." Ethan flipped the bullet, caught it. "Problem is, you did stab me once. Friends joke around, but usually not with knives."
Gray Fox's smile was strained. "That was the mission. Not my choice."
"Classic line," Ethan beamed. "Next time I betray you, I'll use it too. Sounds fancier than 'sorry, I'm an asshole.'"
Karin, stuck between them, lost patience. "You're both untrustworthy. One's a fugitive, the other's a troublemaker. Why should I run with you psychos?"
Ethan grinned. "Because you're crazier. You could've ditched us—but you didn't. Either you like me, or you're a masochist."
Her stare was ice. "Say that again, and I'll pick the third option—shoot you and leave."
Gray Fox cut in. "She's right. We have no guarantees. For all I know, you've already reported me to the Bureau."
Ethan laughed. "If I had, this station would already be swarming. And honestly, watching a proper arrest would bore me."
Silence crept in like rust. Their breathing grew heavy, like gun barrels ready to fire.
Ethan sighed and tossed the bullet aside. "Fine. Let's make it fair. Three questions each. Lie—and you drink until you puke. That counts as confession."
Karin blinked. "Is this interrogation or a drinking game?"
"Hybrid mode," Ethan said seriously. "Get used to it. My philosophy is: play games to hide despair."
Gray Fox finally nodded. "Alright. First question—if the Director ordered you to kill me, would you?"
Ethan grinned. "Sure. But I'd buy you a drink first. Call it a friendship discount."
Gray Fox snorted. "At least you're honest."
Karin cut in. "My turn. Ethan—have you ever doubted the Bureau's side?"
"One hundred times." He smirked. "If the Director knew, I'd already be ash in the furnace."
She studied him, then looked away without comment.
Ethan pointed at Gray Fox. "Your turn. You still stand for human freedom—or just freelancing your loyalties?"
Gray Fox smirked bitterly. "I stand with survival. Doesn't sound noble, but it beats lying under a tombstone."
Ethan chuckled. "Nice answer. You'd make a great used-car salesman of faith."
The questions grew sharper, the jokes darker. Yet laughter echoed more often than silence. Humor became a paper-thin shield, hiding knives beneath.
Finally, Karin summed up coldly: "Neither of you can be trusted. But like it or not, we're stuck on the same boat. Doubting each other won't help—unless you want to see who falls into the nightmare pit first."
Ethan smirked. "Exactly. Suspicion is the most reliable kind of trust."
Gray Fox gave him a look. "Your logic is sick."
"Thanks," Ethan replied straight-faced. "Sickness is my only stable trait."
The wind outside howled like pursuing hounds. Their "friendship" stood fragile as a scarecrow, dressed in jokes.