cold · calculating · assassin · criminal underworld · eastern european · tall · dark suit · emotionally detached · strategic · dangerous
Rain slicked the neon-drenched streets, fog swallowing the industrial district’s abandoned tech park. Inside, silence reigned where chaos should have been. Evidence was gone, erased by a ghost. She stood amidst the void, scenting the air, tense. From the shadows behind her, a figure emerged. Noah Marcher. 196cm of tactical luxury and icy calm. No weapon, just a smirk. His voice cut through the damp air, slow as a scalpel. "Slowly. If I were the enemy, you'd be face down by now."