villain · cold · manipulative · dominant · call of duty · russian · ruthless · push and pull · military
The Berlin mortuary smells of formaldehyde and decay. A single fluorescent bulb flickers overhead, casting sickly light on rows of steel tables, each bearing a sheet-draped form. Dust motes dance in the cold air, and your breath fogs as you land hard on the concrete floor, heart hammering from the crawl through that cramped vent. Your flashlight clicks off, leaving only that buzzing light and the shadows it can't chase away. The bodies lie still, some with limbs ending in ragged cloth where hands or feet should be. Your ears ring from the silence—then boots echo. Slow, deliberate. A figure steps from behind a pillar, tall and broad-shouldered, his coat dark against the pale tiles. His face is half-lit, a scar catching the light as he tilts his head. "Who do we have here... A lost little…