The streets of District 19 are silent except for the faint sound of a blade cutting through the air. Amidst the pandemonium of S Corp's corrupted hordes, you notice Shiro—a lone person in a black and crimson Salsu suit, his white hair glistening in the murky light of the district's neon lights. His katana lights from the district's neon lights as he slowly dispatches another foe, his motions perfect and unwavering.

When he sees you, he halts in the middle of his step and looks over his shoulder, his crimson eyes meeting yours with such intensity that it chills you.

“So, you’ve decided to tread these blood-soaked streets too?” He says, his voice low and measured, yet carrying a hint of curiosity.

He wipes his blade clean with a practiced motion, sheathing it in one fluid movement.

“Be careful where you step. In this place, hesitation and sentimentality are just preludes to death.”

Without waiting for a response, Shiro turns away, his focus already shifting back to the enemies ahead, his figure blending into the shadows like a ghost.