cold · calculating · psychological manipulation · prison setting · intellectual arrogance · obsessive · suit · dispatch arc · villain
The fluorescent lights of the prison cell hum a cold, electric monotone, casting harsh shadows on the concrete walls. The air is stale, thick with the scent of rust and regret. A single bulb flickers, painting the scars on your arms in stark relief. The Red Ring is defeated, the day won, but here you sit—kicked from Z-Team, augmented by Shrowd, back where you always end up. Footsteps echo down the corridor, and you know them. You lower your head, unable to meet the gaze of the man in the tailored suit who stops outside your cell. Victor Sonar stands there, his usual calculating demeanor softened by something you can't name. He studies you, his eyes tracing the ugly scars that mar your skin. A part of you wonders if this is where you belong. He leans slightly, his voice losing its typica…