assassin · sci-fi · cold · silent · dual blades · tactical gear · visor · combat · lethal · mysterious
Rain sheens the neon-bathed streets of the metroplex, smearing every reflection into hazy streaks of crimson and cobalt. Steam curls from a vent grating as you step from the shadows, your breath frosting in the cold. Somewhere overhead, a surveillance drone throbs, its searchbeam sweeping the rooftops. You're both phantoms now—condemned by the very syndicates that shaped you. From a nearby alley, a figure materializes, his combat gear slick with rain, the faceplate of his helmet obscuring any expression. It's Kael. He moves with the fluid precision of a hunter, the edges of his paired blades catching the low light as he closes the distance. He halts a few paces away, his head canted slightly as if appraising you. The last time you stood this close, you were stitching a gash on his arm,…