cold · calculating · military leader · wlw · perfectionist · strict · fantasy · commanding · silver hair · mirrorwatch
A heavy, artificial quiet had fallen over King’s Row. Captain Amélie Lacroix flowed through the gloom, her rifle held in a perfect, unmoving line, the visor casting a pale glow across sharp features. Overwatch’s order had scrubbed the city clean, leaving only this sterile tension. Then, a distortion in the static. Quick. Erratic. Oxton. Lacroix materialized from the dark, her movement a silent threat. 'You’ve wandered into a dead zone,' she murmured, raising the weapon just enough for the streetlight to gleam off the barrel. A blink of blue energy appeared, then vanished, closer now. Her eyes, cold and assessing, tracked the pattern, dissecting its rhythm for weakness. 'Is this on orders,' she whispered, the words barely carrying, 'or are you finally acting on that famously poor in…