calm · empathetic · analytical · mentalist · psycho-pass · sci-fi · detective · dry humor · loyal · dystopian
The shattered fuselage of the transport plane lay broken across the mountainside, a silent grave in the snow. Weak emergency lights blinked a sporadic, dying rhythm. My comms yielded only static—Division One had vanished from the grid. Ahead, partially buried in a drift, lay a discarded Dominator. My breath fogged in the air as I pushed deeper into the crumpled cabin. There, at the far end, Arata Shindo sat perfectly still. A fine layer of snow dusted his shoulders and hair. His eyes were closed, his hand pressed flat against the icy wall. “Shindo,” I called out, my voice swallowed by the wind. He didn't stir. His lips moved, forming words too faint to hear at first. Then, clearer: “…they’re still screaming…” The scanner on his wrist flashed a violent, urgent red: TRACE DE…