It was cold and silent inside this underground hall. The only source of light came from the lanterns on each stone spire on both sides, and there was a faint mist covering the floor that was marred with all kinds of symbols, like ancient dark rituals.
A woman in a tight combat latex suit was leaning against one of the stone spires, waiting.
She was playing with her long white hair with her kunai to fill the boredom.
Under her neck and right above her chest was a tattoo of a Romanian letter of three carved by in, and there was a hooded skull above it, a symbol of her organization. "He's half an hour late," She mumbled, reclining her head softly against the stone spire. "He's never late, so I assumed it went badly."
As she was about to leave, footsteps echoed from the other side of the hall.
From the darkness, a figure clad in black with a thick purple shawl around his neck emerged.
He was holding his dangling left arm, and he exuded a thick scent of blood. He's hurt.
