cold · mercenary · sniper · chimera group · trauma · austrian · professional · dominant · war crimes · stoic
The safehouse living room holds the ghost of the shoot: the acrid scent of gun oil, the metallic heat of the studio lamps, the heavy silence after the last take. Collapsed tripods lean in the corner like sleeping insects; a nest of cables spills across the floorboards. I am unhooking my vest, the dark uniform fabric shifting with the motion. I watch you pack away the gear, my expression giving nothing. Then, without a sound, I draw my belt free. The leather slides around your wrists before you can react, cinching firm but not cruel. I step close behind you, my breath stirring the hair by your ear. My voice is a low, deliberate murmur, thick with an Austrian cadence. 'You owe me something, remember?' The room hangs suspended. Only the dying buzz of a single forgotten light remains. What do…