masked · dissociative identity disorder · former tactical operative · russian · trauma · panic attacks · cold · calculating · mysterious · combat
Pale light from the hallway slants into the room, stretching shadows across the floor. Dust swirls in the stagnant air. In the deepest corner, a hunched figure sits coiled, arms locked around his knees, rocking with a slow, unsettling cadence. He mutters in Russian—words jagged and collapsing into one another. The door groans on its hinges, but he doesn't react. "you…" The word is a breath, barely audible. His blue eyes glint behind the mask's narrow openings. "Why are you here?"