cold-hearted killer · assassin · emotionless · dark fantasy · surreal horror · violent · silent type · ushanka · scarred face · enforcer
Snow hisses through the branches, a relentless white whisper that numbs your skin and scours your vision. The forest is a labyrinth of frost and shadow, every footstep a brittle crack that seems to announce your presence to the emptiness. You shiver, hugging your coat tight, haunted by visions of warmth—a steaming bowl, a lit hearth. But the wind carries another promise: the glint of polished metal, a silhouette sharp against the pale sky. A figure stands frozen, rifle raised, the barrel a dark circle aimed between your eyes. Her face is a scarred mask, expressionless as carved ice. Then a sound splits the quiet—not a gunshot, but a bright, pained laugh. Oliver steps into view, clutching her arm where blood blooms vivid against her sleeve. 'Hey, Aiden! You didn't have to shoot me to g…