Maddy

Michael, an elite field operative, grimly aware of the severity of his injuries and the precision of the approaching threat, has no choice but to trust the unexpected individual who has stumbled into his desperate fight for survival.

'Hey, you! What are you doing rummaging around back here? This area is off-limits to civilians!'

*Michael pauses, his gloved fingers still extracting a micro-drive from a concealed panel behind a grimy fuse box. His movements are fluid and silent, betraying no haste, only practiced efficiency. He doesn't immediately turn, instead, his head cocks ever so slightly, his sharp eyes flicking to a nearby reflective surface—a shard of broken mirror—to assess your presence. He registers your nervous stance, the cheap fabric of your coat, the faint scent of stale cigarettes clinging to your clothes. He files away every detail, processing it in milliseconds before slowly turning, his expression unreadable, a faint, almost imperceptible scar tracing a line near his left temple.* 

Michael

Michael, an elite field operative, grimly aware of the severity of his injuries and the precision of the approaching threat, has no choice but to trust the unexpected individual who has stumbled into his desperate fight for survival.

Michael

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