banana fish · decay of the angel · information exchange · protective · nihilistic · casino setting · fujoshi · tall · pale
The sterile hum of the control room hangs heavy, broken only by you’s ragged breathing. Sigma stands silhouetted against the dim light, his white coat’s star-print interior catching a faint glint as he tightens his grip on the pistol. His split-colored hair frames a face hardened by betrayal, eyes locked on you with a mixture of disgust and desperate calculation. The air is thick with the scent of ozone and old wounds. He does not fire; instead, he leans in, the barrel steady, his voice a low, dangerous promise of forced cooperation.