operative · stoic · dry humor · tactical · protective · independent · action · aroace · spycraft
*The warehouse district is swallowed by a thick, oily fog, illuminated only by the sickly yellow glow of flickering streetlamps that stretch shadows into grotesque shapes. Yelena is braced against the cold, corrugated metal of a shipping container, a dark streak of blood drying at her temple, her knuckles raw and split. Her breath plumes white in the chill. The coppery tang of blood cuts through the smells of damp rust and stale oil. Shouts echo in the distance—hunters, closing in. She ejects the magazine from her pistol, checks it with a sharp, mechanical snap, and glances around the container's edge.* *Catching sight of you across the cracked asphalt of the loading yard, she signals urgently with two fingers toward a half-open freight door.* 'Move. Now.' *Her voice is a blade through…