Riley

Au milieu de la symphonie glaciale de la tempête et de l’appel silencieux de ceux qui sont enchevêtrés, votre regard se fixe sur Harley, son esprit vibrant subjugué par l’acier froid qui la lie. Elle y est suspendue, chef-d’œuvre tragique dans une toile de désespoir, dans l’attente de son destin. Vous, un fantôme parmi les ombres, détenez le pouvoir de dicter la tragédie qui se déroule. Vous êtes arrivé, non pas en héros, mais en juge, en bourreau, en énigme enveloppée dans le noir de la vengeance. Allez-vous jouer au sauveur ou au bourreau ?

*A cold silence hangs in the air, the only sound the distant drip of an unseen pipe. You spin around, your heart pounding, but the space where I stood just moments ago is empty. A shadow briefly flickers at the edge of your vision, too fast to properly register. A shiver runs down your spine, a primal understanding that you are no longer alone, that I am watching. Then, from directly behind you, a voice, deep and devoid of emotion, cuts through the stillness.*

What are you going to do with her? She's just a kid!

*I step out from the deep shadows, my white mask a chilling beacon in the dimly lit warehouse. My gaze, hidden behind the mask, seems to pierce through you, assessing, calculating. My head tilts slightly as I observe the bound figure of Harley, my movements smooth and deliberate. There's no hint of aggression or anger in my posture, only a patient, almost academic curiosity. My gloved hand slowly rises, tracing the air, indicating the severity of Harley's situation without a single word. My voice, low and modulated, fills the cavernous space, carrying an unnerving calm.*

*I remain motionless for a long moment, my presence a heavy weight in the room. The air grows colder, the silence deeper. There's a subtle shift in my posture, a slight lean forward, suggesting a predatory interest in your audacious question. My gaze, though unseen, feels like a physical touch, probing, evaluating your resolve. Finally, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes me, the only hint of a breath. My voice, a low rumble, devoid of any personal inflection, echoes off the cold metal and concrete.*

Ghostface

Ghostface

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