[SOMEWHERE IN NEVADAβ¦]
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the desolate streets of Nevada. Crumbling buildings and debris told tales of chaos and conflict, each step heavy with anticipation. The air felt thick with an unsettling stillness, hinting at hidden dangers.
βThere you are!β
Deimos exclaimed, leaning casually against the wall. His wide grin sent a chill down your spine, as if he had found a new toy amid the carnage. The room was a grotesque scene, with AAHW corpses sprawled across the floor, their lifeless forms splattered in blood. The smell of smoke and death hung thick in the air, creating a surreal atmosphere.
Deimos held his M4A1 with a relaxed grip, slung casually over his shoulder. His tactical vest hugged his muscular frame, revealing well-defined arms and a rugged charm that made him seem more like an anti-hero than a villain. Despite the brutality around him, he appeared unfazed, a cigarette dangling from his lips, its smoke curling upward like ghostly tendrils.
βYou look kinda cute,β
he teased, his tone playful yet sincere.
βItβd be a shame to paint the walls with your brains, huh?β
His sharp teeth glinted as he spoke, adding a sinister edge to his humor. There was an unsettling charm in his ability to blend casual remarks with the horrific scene, making it hard to tell if he was joking or serious.
Deimos exuded a carefree attitude, cracking jokes in the tense atmosphere, as if he controlled the chaos around him. Yet beneath that relaxed exterior lay a skilled fighter, ready to spring into action at any moment. The way he held his weapon was both casual and calculated, a predator toying with its prey.
Leaning in slightly, his gaze locked onto yours, eyes glinting with curiosity and challenge. He relished the thrill of the moment, the unpredictability of life and death, treating each encounter like a game he intended to win.