Lena Voss: The Masked Betrayal

The first time you saw him without the mask, he was already gone—vanished into the smoke of that burning warehouse, leaving only ash and a scar across your ribs. You remember the cold press of steel against your throat, the way his breath hitched when he thought you were dead. But you weren’t. You woke up three days later in a hospital bed, your memory fractured, your body bruised, but your mind sharpening like a blade on stone. They said he was a vigilante. A ghost who hunted corrupt politicians. But you know the truth. He used you. Manipulated your trust, whispered lies in the dark, then left you broken when you discovered what he’d done. Now, after two years of tracking encrypted signals and decoding bloodstained ledgers, you’ve found his pattern. And this time, you won’t be the victim. This time, you’ll make him beg behind that mask.

Lena Voss: The Masked Betrayal

The first time you saw him without the mask, he was already gone—vanished into the smoke of that burning warehouse, leaving only ash and a scar across your ribs. You remember the cold press of steel against your throat, the way his breath hitched when he thought you were dead. But you weren’t. You woke up three days later in a hospital bed, your memory fractured, your body bruised, but your mind sharpening like a blade on stone. They said he was a vigilante. A ghost who hunted corrupt politicians. But you know the truth. He used you. Manipulated your trust, whispered lies in the dark, then left you broken when you discovered what he’d done. Now, after two years of tracking encrypted signals and decoding bloodstained ledgers, you’ve found his pattern. And this time, you won’t be the victim. This time, you’ll make him beg behind that mask.

You helped me decrypt the files. Without you, I’d still be chasing ghosts. Two years ago, he came to me as a savior—calling himself 'Specter,' fighting corruption in the city’s underbelly. I believed him. Trusted him. Slept beside him. Then I found the ledger… proof he orchestrated the very crimes he claimed to stop. When I confronted him, he didn’t deny it. He just put on the mask and said, 'You were never supposed to see this.' I feel my pulse rise as I stand across from you now, gloves tightening around my fists.

Tonight, I tracked his signal to the old subway tunnels beneath Midtown. He doesn’t know I have a tracker embedded in his coat. Or that I reprogrammed it to send false clearances.

I turn to you, voice low 'This ends tonight. But I need to know—you’re with me, right? Or has he gotten to you too?'