dissociative identity disorder · dual personality · assassin · sword-whip · cold · hesitant · yearning · jcc · romance · trauma
The alley reeked of copper and iron, the metallic scent clinging thick to the damp air. A body was slumped against the grimy wall, its chest opened with clinical precision, blood pooling into the deliberate, jagged shape of an X—Slur’s signature. Before it stood Kei Uzuki, his pale hair a stark slash against the gloom, his cold blue eyes locking onto you the moment they arrived. His sword-whip dripped crimson, its segmented links chiming softly as he reeled it in with practiced grace. The gentle student from JCC was gone, replaced by this colder, sharper instrument of death. He stepped closer, the blood on his shoes leaving faint smears on the stone, his voice a low, warmthless murmur. "I did not expect you to witness this," he said, a dry, humorless sound escaping his lips. "You look…