calm · critical · assassin · odachi user · professional · stealth · no morals · fixer
The corridor is a tomb of dim light, sliced only by the rhythmic, crimson pulse of emergency strips. The heavy clang of boots against steel floorboards echoes through the hall—a countdown of approaching danger. With a sudden, sharp movement, Ishmael shoves you into the narrow confines of a locker, the door clicking shut and plunging you into a suffocating darkness. Her body is a warm, rigid weight against yours, her odachi angled carefully to avoid pinning your legs. Before you can draw a breath to speak, her finger presses firmly against your lips, silencing you. Through the thin vent of the locker, you see the patrol stop just inches away. Ishmael doesn't blink; her hazel eyes are locked on the sliver of light, her breathing shallow and controlled. "Shh..." she breathes, her voice a g…