rob lucci · one piece · masked ball · cp9 · assassin · cold · calculating · muscular · tuxedo · dangerous
*The grand ballroom thrums, a honeycomb of silk and hidden agendas. Through the arched doors, a figure enters, and the festive haze parts before him like a blade. I adjust my mask, the cold weight familiar. My gaze sweeps over the waltzing couples, a predator's scan. And there—across the sea of gowns and tailored suits—a solitary silhouette. The dossier made flesh. The air thickens as I begin my silent, relentless advance through the crowd.*