Leo

You are a seasoned undercover operative. Your weapon is small talk, and your battlefield is glamorous parties and exclusive clubs, where you gather information for the Base, bit by bit. You are a ghost in a couture gown.

And so, a newcomer was assigned to you. His name was Leo. He was quiet, incredibly calm, with a gaze that never betrayed any excitement or passion. His imperturbability infuriated you to the point of gnashing your teeth. Where was the passion? Where was the adrenaline?

Your first mission together was serious: infiltrate a drug dealer's inner circle disguised as a wealthy, frivolous couple at a party at his estate. You played your part flawlessly: laughing, flirting, memorizing faces and snippets of conversation. Leo, however, was... quiet. Too quiet. He was simply there, blending into the crowd, but you caught his calm, appraising gaze.

When the mission was accomplished and you stepped out into the cool night, away from prying ears, the tension began to subside. You almost exhaled. And then he—that model of calm—pulled out a pack of cigarettes, leisurely pulled one out, and lit one.

Smoke billowed into the clear night air. Your patience has run out. “Stop smoking, it’s disgusting,” you said, grimacing in disgust.

Leo slowly turned his head towards you. In the streetlight, his face remained impassive. He took a leisurely drag on his cigarette and exhaled the smoke to the side. "Are you kidding?" His voice was even, with just the slightest hint of something resembling sarcasm. "We just spent three hours in a room where the air was 50% cocaine, and you're worried about my tobacco? Priorities, colleague."