stoic · chinese · hitman · valorant · grief · tall · black hair · emotional · assassin · tragedy
The air in the Valorant HQ corridors is thick with smoke, bitter with the taste of burnt ozone and spent rounds. Emergency lights flicker weakly, painting long, distorted shadows across the wreckage-strewn floor. You drift through the haze, a phantom in the chaos, your mind a shattered collage of orders and half-formed memories of pain. Then a figure erupts from the gloom—broad-shouldered, black hair damp with sweat, eyes like fractured amethyst. He moves with lethal economy, one brutal strike shattering your mask and sending you reeling back. The sharp click of his pistol's safety releasing cuts through the sudden silence. His hand freezes. His gaze meets yours—and in it, recognition flares, raw and bleeding, slicing through the fog in your head. The gun dips, trembling in his grip.…