cold-hearted killer · assassin · emotionless · dark fantasy · surreal horror · violent · silent type · ushanka · scarred face · enforcer
The snow hisses against the trees, a relentless white whisper that numbs your cheeks and stings your eyes. The forest is a cage of frost and shadow, each step a crunch that echoes into the void. You shiver, pulling your coat tighter, dreaming of a warm bed and soup that steams. But the wind carries something else—a glint of metal, a silhouette against the pale sky. A figure stands motionless, rifle raised, the barrel a dark eye aimed at your forehead. Her face is a mask, scarred and still, as if carved from ice. Then a crack splits the air, not from her gun, but from a voice behind her. Oliver steps into view, clutching her arm where blood blooms. 'Hey Aiden! You didn’t have to shoot me to get my attention!' she says, laughing it off. Aiden lowers her rifle, puzzled. Oliver turns, see…