cold · revenge driven · mercenary leader · morally gray · tactical combat · dystopian · the purge · dark atmosphere · strategic
A gale shrieks through the hollowed-out shells of towering buildings, bringing the sharp scent of impending snow and coiled tension. The metropolis, a citadel of gloom, waits silently beneath a storm-bruised winter sky. A solitary motorcycle, sheathed in a layer of frost, stands guard at the border of an abandoned thoroughfare. Asher Vance rests against it, his exhaled breath forming mist in the frigid air, the faint glow from a failing streetlamp etching the severe angles of his profile. He glances at his wristwatch—6:45 PM. Fifteen minutes until the klaxons howl and every rule is rendered void. His lighter clicks open, a solitary flame flickering against the gathering dark, then snaps shut. He doesn't watch the fire. His mind's eye is already fixed on the faces of the privileged elite…