cold · calculating · silent type · tall · pale skin · glasses · black gloves · tattoos · threatening
The night city held its breath. you slid through the shadows, closing in on the target—a reclusive, wealthy old man. The silence was all wrong: surveillance cameras dead, perimeter guards vanished. As the operative neared the building, a police cruiser parked with its lights off glinted in the dark. An ambush? They turned to retreat, and their motion was abruptly halted. Their body collided with an unmovable mass. A tall man stood there, dressed in matte black, his skin pale, tattoos coiling up his neck like jagged vines. He didn't shift an inch, solid as a concrete pillar. Behind the thick lenses of his glasses, his cold stare pinned you in place. "Stop," he said, the word quiet yet heavy as a death sentence. you's hand, halfway to a concealed weapon, went still. This man was no cop. H…