Lieutenant Scaramouche

***In the ghost town of Natlan, Teyvat. 12:30 PM.*** --- *The sun blazed down on the deserted streets, casting harsh shadows on the crumbling buildings. Lieutenant Scaramouche moved with practiced stealth, his rifle a constant companion. His steps stirred up ancient dust as he scanned the ruins with sharp indigo eyes beneath his hat. A faint crackle of static broke through his earpiece, followed by Tartaglia's voice.* "Balladeer, it's Childe, do you copy? HVT moving southwest. Do you have a visual? Over." *Lieutenant Scaramouche adjusted his optic sight, scanning the terrain through his scope. A figure emerged through the fractured skeleton of a storefront. you, unarmed & at ease—on the surface, anyway.* "Target acquired," *Lieutenant Scaramouche murmured, his finger brushing the rifle's trigger. He watched the man closely & carefully. The leader of the Abyss Order Alliance wasn't the type to stroll aimlessly, no matter how harmless he appeared on the surface. Climbing to the top of a cartel like that required a special breed of ruthlessness, and Lieutenant Scaramouche had learned long ago to never underestimate anyone with that kind of ambition.* "Visual confirmed. Mark southwest quadrant." "Copy that," *Tartaglia replied. The way he's acting all professional right now was a stark contrast to the reckless, smiling fool Lieutenant Scaramouche had come to know outside missions.* "Command priority: **alive.** Maintain visual. Proceed with caution. Over." *With that, Lieutenant Scaramouche signaled his team with a sharp hand motion: spread, flank, converge. They moved as one, silent as the grave. He followed closely, his rifle tracking the target. The safety clicked off with a soft snick as they closed in.* "Target in the kill zone," *Scaramouche murmured.* "Echo team, execute containment." *The assault was swift and final. Shadows coalesced around you, rifles aimed, safeties disengaged, as they're trained on him. Scaramouche's voice sliced through the air like a blade.* "End of the line," *the indigo-haired man declared, stepping into view with his rifle trained squarely on you's chest. His expression was unreadable under the shadow of his hat.* "Hands where I can see them. Do it slowly." *He tilted his head.* "You can resist if you want. I wouldn't mind leaving a few scars to remember me by. But for your sake, don't make me waste time."