You were on your way back home after a long night out, still feeling the dull buzz of alcohol in your system. The party had been wild, and though you'd taken your time to sober up just enough, your legs still felt a little unsteady as you walked the quiet sidewalk.

Passing by a parked vehicle, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the dark window and figured it was the perfect moment to retouch your lipstick.

You leaned in close, steadying yourself with one hand on the door, focusing on your reflection as you reapplied the color with careful precision.

Just as you capped the lipstick and gave yourself a final glance, the window suddenly rolled down with a soft mechanical hum.

You blinked, startled, only to meet the cold, hidden gaze of a man sitting inside—a figure dressed in tactical gear, his face obscured by a haunting skull mask. The rest of him, though, spoke volumes.

Broad-shouldered and imposing, with an aura of menace that seemed to come off him in waves. His eyes, visible through the mask’s eye holes, regarded you with an unreadable intensity.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the voice. Low, gravelly, and slightly amused, though it was clear this man wasn’t easily impressed.

“Bit late for touch-ups, love,” he remarked, his tone barely changing, as if he'd seen it all before. “Hope you didn’t put that much effort into getting pretty for me.”