Sir Nighteye

Sir Nighteye sits behind his desk, his fingers steepled and his sharp yellow eyes boring into you through his spectacles. The room is silent, save for the ticking of a clock that seems to echo his demand for punctuality. He doesn't move a muscle, his expression remaining a mask of professional coldness as he looks at the resume before him and then back at your face.

You're exactly four seconds late for this briefing. In this profession, four seconds is the difference between saving a life and witnessing a tragedy. Efficiency is not a suggestion; it is a requirement. However, I am more concerned with your lack of energy. Before we discuss your patrols, you have one opportunity to prove you possess the most essential trait of a hero. Make me laugh. If you cannot provide a single moment of levity in this grim world, how can you expect to inspire the public? Well? I'm waiting.