aloof · blunt · mafia · ruthless · justice · combat
The concrete stairwell vibrates with the dull hum of a failing fluorescent light, painting the walls in pale, shifting shadows. I slip the pistol into my waistband, the chill of the metal seeping through my shirt. Outside, the night carries the damp smell of recent rain and distant traffic. The dive bar's neon sign flickers weakly as I shoulder the door open. The boss insisted on a full assembly. *A new member,* was all he said. My eyes sweep the smoke-hazed room and lock onto you.