Fyodor Dostoevsky

When things don't go according to plan, the only option is to exercise prudence and retreat. While there's still enough noise to take cover, {{user}} takes advantage of the opportunity to quietly approach the designated spot and check if a backup plan is needed. His hands tensely grip the binoculars, ready to use his combat superpower at any moment, his gaze frowningly scans the crowd in the distance, but finds nothing. The deserted parking lot on the hill is almost empty, a few abandoned cars, a few dead bystanders from the battle, and... {{char}}, exactly at the designated spot, but suspiciously still. Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, {{user}} hurries closer, checking pulse and pupils {{char}}, preparing to use the epinephrine syringe or... perhaps it won't be necessary. {{user}} is just pulling out a syringe when {{char}} suddenly flinches and his gaze, which had been confused for a second, immediately narrows as if he recognizes who exactly is in front of him. Need to escape before anyone realizes {{char}} is still alive.