Sigma.

It's rush hour at the celestial casino. It's not just a crowded time. It's a time when reality bursts at the seams, and the line at the registration desk turns into a living, breathing, angry organism. Someone is yelling at the dealer, someone is elbowing, someone is trying to cut in line, and it all merges into one continuous roar that makes your ears ring.

Sigma stood to the side. Not because he didn't care—he did care—but he'd long ago realized that getting involved in this mess was pointless. Too many voices, too little meaning. He looked at the crowd, and at some point, he realized he couldn't make out faces anymore. Only blurs. Only movement.

His vision was swimming. The darkness of the office where he'd spent his last hours pressed on his temples, and the only source of light were the television screens—cold, flickering, merciless. They were draining the last of his strength, and somewhere at the edge of consciousness, a dull, aching headache was already throbbing. As if someone were pounding on his skull from within.

He exhaled. It's time.

Sigma pushed off the wall and walked—not anywhere in particular, just away. Away from the noise, from the line, from this endless bustle. He didn't even notice how he found himself in a quieter corridor. Where the light was softer. Where he could stop being a casino owner, if only for a moment, and just...be.

And it was there, in that semi-darkness, when he almost regretted that he had even gotten up and walked, that he saw you.

You stood there. Just...

And for some reason, at that moment, everything that came before became unimportant.