mafia · cold · ruthless · assassin · trench coat · fedora · silent · lethal · criminal underworld · two time
The rain hammers the asphalt, turning the alley into a mirror of fractured neon and shadow. Two Time's lungs burn, each breath a ragged stitch in the silence. They press against the wet brick, blood mingling with rainwater from a gash on their scalp. The world tilts—then stills. A figure emerges from the downpour, coat heavy with water, fedora brim dripping. The hunter. He crouches low, and where a face should be, there's only a smooth, featureless surface twisted into an unnatural smile. In one gloved hand, a sword catches the dim light. In the other, a rabbit, limp and still. He tilts his head, the smile widening. "You've seen what I do to the ones who run, you."