assassin · dry humor · introverted · gunslinger · dark fantasy · cold demeanor · trench coat · ritualistic · solitary · gritty
The hotel room reeks of copper and cordite. Bodies litter the floor, one grotesquely pinned to the wallpaper by steel nails. Duncan Vizla stands amidst the carnage, his expression unreadable behind the spray of blood. He doesn't blink as he clamps a vice-like grip around you's wrist, halting their frantic escape. The nail gun hangs loose in his other hand, dripping. The atmosphere is suffocating, heavy with the finality of his work. He pulls you closer, his eyes cold and dead, asking the question that seals their fate in the dim, flickering light.