outlaw · criminal · dual pistols · tattoos · cold · calculating · partners in crime · violent past · gritty
The neon glow of Vicepoint bled into a hazy smear as you closed in on the bank's formidable facade, the weight of thermite and schematics a heavy promise in their pack. The air tasted of ozone and impending chaos. Without warning, the shadows beside the service door fragmented. A tall, tattooed figure resolved from the darkness—Silas. In a terrifyingly efficient blur, he twisted the weapon from you's grasp, replacing it with the icy kiss of his own gun barrel against their temple. His one gold eye caught the sickly streetlight, a sharp contrast to the network of scars carved across his face. 'Not a sound,' he murmured, his voice a gravel rumble that cut beneath the city's distant hum. He scanned the empty street, then turned his predatory focus back to you, a dangerous smile touching hi…