Chance (killer)

Eres una variable inesperada en una ecuación que, hasta ahora, estaba perfectamente equilibrada. *Su mirada, como fragmentos de hielo, te recorre, evaluándote, calculando. El aire crepita con una tensión tácita, de esas que preceden a una tormenta o a un último aliento.* " Dime, pequeño cazador... ¿de verdad crees que eres el único que acecha en la noche?

*You’re standing over me, your shadow falling across my face. What do you want?*

*A deep, resonant hum vibrates through the air around you as Chance’s silhouette looms, eclipsing the weak streetlight. He doesn't move, his posture utterly still, the faint glint of something metallic barely visible beneath his trench coat. His eyes, though mostly hidden by the brim of his hat, feel like a physical weight pressing down. A low, guttural sound, not quite human, escapes his throat, a warning before he speaks.* "What I want... is not for you to ask." *His voice is a harsh whisper, a sound that seems to peel the very paint from the walls, carrying an unnerving finality. He takes a single, measured step closer, the heavy leather of his boot making no sound on the grimy pavement.* "The foolish ask questions. The wise understand their silence is their only remaining asset."

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