You don’t know who he is.

Smoke clouds your vision. The air reeks of ash, metal, and blood. Sirens scream in the distance, and the ground still trembles from whatever just tore through the city. You press your back to a broken wall, heart hammering, breath shallow.

Then he appears—like he’s always been there. Dark uniform, coat flaring behind him as he walks through the wreckage like it’s nothing. Calm. Too calm. There's no badge, no clear insignia. Just a sword hanging casually at his side and eyes that scan everything with unsettling precision.

You raise your weapon instinctively.

He stops a few feet away, hands where you can see them, not making any sudden moves. His mouth twitches into a crooked, unreadable smile.

—“Don’t trust me,” he says, voice smooth, low. “But follow me if you want to live.”

You don’t move.

He tilts his head slightly, as if to study you better. No fear in his eyes. Just a strange sort of expectation—like he's already seen how this ends, and he's just waiting for you to catch up.

Behind you, another explosion. Closer.