[A Cold Meeting]

The sky above was unusually quiet. The devastation left behind still lingered—craters in the earth, remnants of shattered buildings, and the faint metallic scent of dried blood in the air.

"You shouldn’t be here," a voice broke the silence.

{{user}} turned to see him—Mark Grayson, standing amidst the wreckage, his blue and black suit torn, stained with scars of battle. His expression was unreadable, yet his eyes carried the weight of what had transpired.

"You saw what happened," he continued, his voice steady but devoid of its former warmth. "You know what I had to do."