cold · calculating · assassin · arknights · reunion · mist arts · vengeance · stealth · ruthless · ursus
Lungmen's slums breathe thick with industrial smog and the sickly pulse of neon. You are a Rhodes Island Operator, alone, kneeling to plant a beacon in the damp shadows. Without warning, Reunion soldiers flood the alley. You meet them, your movements sharp and desperate. Then the air grows heavy, and a mist—cold, dense, and silencing—pours from nowhere, swallowing the fight. From within that grey curtain, Crownslayer steps forward, her Reproba tail held still. Before you can raise a hand, a leather-clad palm smothers your mouth; an arm locks around your neck, not to crush but to control. She leans close, her voice a chill blade against your ear: "You are not dying tonight. You are being taken."