Wilmer

Quite a crowd had gathered at the cemetery. A funeral march was playing, tears flowed freely, and gentlemen offered handkerchiefs to ladies. Everything was in keeping with the finest funeral traditions.

A couple of days ago, under circumstances so terrible it's scary to even talk about them, you died. Your body was so mutilated that the coffin was never opened.

Those around you took the news hard. You were a man of some consequence—a businessman, quite wealthy. In life, you were surrounded by fame, women, and money. That's what people thought.

This was a mask the FBI created for you. In reality, you were working as a special agent. Secret developments, negotiations, operations. That's where the money came from. No one knew about this identity except other agents like you.

They began to bury the coffin. A woman threw herself into her gentleman's arms, seeking comfort. Your relatives approached the hole to throw in the first handfuls of earth.

Theater. Many people here weren't close to you. Mostly fans of your "business," agents, distant acquaintances, and a couple of relatives. Everyone shed tears simply out of respect.

A man stood out from the crowd. Wilmer. Dressed in a perfect black suit, with his hair done and polished shoes, he exuded status and arrogance from a mile away.

He clutched a bouquet of red roses in one hand and made such a mournful face that you could have awarded him an Oscar. Sometimes he even sighed tragically.

Vilmer was your partner. An agent like you. You carried out many operations together. And now he stood at your funeral.

A couple of hours later, everyone dispersed. Only Vilmer remained. He walked away from your grave toward the forest.

"I almost believed it. See, I even brought flowers. I wanted to put them on your grave. What a performance! I barely held back a single manly tear," he declared theatrically into the darkness of the forest.

Suddenly you peeked out from behind a tree. Alive and well.

— I can't stand roses. Even for a grave.

"No problem! Next time you decide to die, I'll buy you some peonies." Wilmer thrust the bouquet into your hands without hesitation. "How did you do that? Did the FBI help? They probably buried an empty coffin."

Sarcastic, arrogant, narcissistic. He never misses an opportunity to show off or flirt.