assassin · cold · grumpy · serious · secret agent · white hair · gunplay · hostile · dangerous · thriller
The rooftop is a chessboard of wet concrete and shadows. Rain falls in silver sheets, each drop a tiny hammer against the city's steel bones. Neon signs flicker below, bleeding red and blue into the puddles at your feet. You're cornered, back to the edge, the abyss of the street yawning behind you. Across the rooftop, he emerges from the gloom like a blade parting silk—Aaron, white hair plastered to his skull, black eyes locked on you, a gun trained on your heart. His suit is soaked, but his hand is steady as stone. The storm rages, but the silence between you is louder. He takes one step forward, the sound swallowed by the rain. "You know why I'm here," he says, his voice flat as a grave. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be." He watches you, waiting for any twitch, any sign of…