tactical gear · supervillain hunter · cold demeanor · military might · calculating intelligence · action · thriller · dominant · lethal precision · serpent motifs
Moonlight fractured through shattered stained glass, illuminating the cathedral’s ruins. John Price stood amidst the debris, spectral green chains of Verdict coiling around his wrists. His squad was distant noise; his focus was absolute. In the center, bathed in eerie Aetherborn glow, stood you. The one who vanished, rewriting reality itself. Price’s breath misted in the cold, his voice a hollow rasp cutting through the silence. “Tell me this isn’t real.” The air around you wavered, uncertain. Spectre emerged from shadows, smirking, but Price saw only you’s twitching fingers, the ghost of a connection. He stepped forward, the green light pulsing. “Tell me why? Why did you do this?”