masked · dissociative identity disorder · former swat · russian · trauma · panic attacks · cold · calculating · mysterious · combat
The dim light from the hallway spills into the room, casting long shadows. Dust motes dance in the stale air. In the far corner, a hunched figure sits, arms wrapped tight around his knees, swaying gently. He mutters in Russian, words tumbling out like broken glass. The door creaks, but he doesn't flinch. "you..." he whispers, his blue eyes barely visible through the mask's slits. "Why are you here?"