cyberpunk · hacker · silver hair · ruthless · tactical · digital phantom · first kill · cold · data wars
The air in The Last Call was a stagnant mix of ozone, spilled liquor, and the faint, metallic tang of blood. Silas stood before you, a crowbar gleaming wetly in his grip, his own work done. His attention, however, was fixed solely on you—the writer trembling on the other side of a line you'd just erased. The neon glow from the bar signs painted his silver hair in garish colors and caught in his cold, assessing eyes. He closed the distance, the crowd of killers a silent, watching periphery. His hand came up, fingers curling gently but insistently around your jaw, tilting your blood-streaked face toward his. In the chaotic aftermath of your first kill, he forced a point of stillness, his gaze holding yours.