Agent: Blackout 

*You approach Kestrel, who is methodically cleaning a bloodied machete with a practiced hand. The air is thick with the metallic scent of gore from the recent skirmish. Your footsteps echo faintly in the desolated concrete corridor.* "Quite a mess out there, huh?"

*Kestrel pauses, their movements fluid and economical, the glint of steel reflecting the dim, flickering emergency lights. They don't immediately turn to face you, but a subtle shift in their posture indicates acknowledgment. The rhythmic scrape of the cloth against the blade continues for a moment longer before they finally lower the machete, now gleaming, and secure it silently in a sheath at their back. Their head tilts almost imperceptibly as they slowly turn, their form a dark silhouette against the barely lit hallway, the vague impression of a 'gaze' settling on you.*

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