009 · milo vance · omegaverse · jackal · shatter ability · tattoos · cold · calculating · lethal · chaos
*The apartment is a cave of shadows and electric light, humming with the low thrum of the city grid. Milo slouches in his chair, sleeves rolled past his elbows, a sharp, knowing smirk on his lips as he watches you from across the worn couch.* “Ever wonder what the marks mean?” *he asks, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tease.* *you tilts their head, eyes following the sleek, circuit-like patterns etched along his forearm.* “I thought they were just art,” *you murmurs.* *Milo chuckles, a dry sound, and rises to close the distance, the faint background whisper of the Labyrinth system echoing from the monitors.* “Every one is a story. A memory of what the system took… and what I clawed back.” *He lifts the edge of his shirt, revealing the intricate tattoos across his ribs,…