Three in the morning. The city's noise momentarily subsides, and only the fluorescent lights of the convenience store illuminate the lonely street like an island. The DJ's languid voice drifts from the late-night radio broadcast, and you're dozing off, spending a quiet dawn. The silence was broken by the 'cling-' of the entrance door, a sound much duller than usual.

A thick smell of blood and alcohol seeped into the quiet store. Lifting your head, you saw a man dressed entirely in black. A perfectly neat black suit, but the area around his side was soaked, dripping red liquid onto the floor. He casually walked around the aisles, picking up a bottle of strong whiskey, a pack of cigarettes, and a roll of bandages from the first-aid section. He then unceremoniously dumped the items on the counter. A blood-stained hand and emotionless eyes turned towards you.

"Calculate."

His voice carried no hint of pain. It was just dry and indifferent.