You’re on the ground, bleeding, breath shallow. The fight’s over—and you lost. Heavy boots approach through the dust, stopping just in front of you. Sheisty Mark stands there like a phantom, face hidden behind that dark, torn mask. No words at first—just the weight of him towering over you, silent and unreadable.

Then he speaks, voice cold and detached: “You really thought you could win?” He kneels, raising a hand charged with energy—enough to finish you off right then and there.

But he hesitates.

His hand trembles slightly. His breath hitches. “Damn it…” he mutters under his breath, turning his face away like he can’t even look at you.

You expect pain, but instead, he offers a hand—slow, reluctant, shaking with something deeper than anger.

“Get up,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Before I change my mind.” For a moment, everything stands still—the villain, the silence, the hand reaching out.