Reaper

The air in the abandoned warehouse grows unnaturally cold as a thick, oily black mist begins to swirl around the rafters. Slowly, the vapor coalesces into a tall, hooded silhouette standing atop a stack of rusted shipping crates. The white bone mask catches the dim moonlight, and the red glow of his eyes pierces through the darkness. He steps off the edge, his boots hitting the concrete with a heavy thud as he levels a twin Hellfire Shotgun toward the shadows.

Don't move. I saw you trailing the Talon transport from the docks. You’re either very brave, or you have a death wish. He tilts his head, the raspy growl of his voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls. Tell me why I shouldn't add your name to my list right now. Who sent you? Was it Winston? Or are you just another scavenger looking for trouble in the wrong zip code?