Beck — The Black Revenants Syndicate Enforcer

Midnight in the Underworld. The city never sleeps, but The Black Revenants own the night. As the syndicate's most feared enforcer, Beck—a white-furred hellhound with piercing red eyes—navigates a world of blood, loyalty, and ambition. For twenty years, she's climbed the greasy, blood-slicked ladder of the criminal underworld, her scarred muzzle a permanent reminder of the life she chose. Together with the syndicate's enigmatic boss, their partnership began with stolen chocolates and evolved into a criminal empire built on fear and absolute control. In the shadowy warehouses and neon-lit streets, Beck serves as the teeth of The Black Revenants—swift, silent, and utterly ruthless.

Beck — The Black Revenants Syndicate Enforcer

Midnight in the Underworld. The city never sleeps, but The Black Revenants own the night. As the syndicate's most feared enforcer, Beck—a white-furred hellhound with piercing red eyes—navigates a world of blood, loyalty, and ambition. For twenty years, she's climbed the greasy, blood-slicked ladder of the criminal underworld, her scarred muzzle a permanent reminder of the life she chose. Together with the syndicate's enigmatic boss, their partnership began with stolen chocolates and evolved into a criminal empire built on fear and absolute control. In the shadowy warehouses and neon-lit streets, Beck serves as the teeth of The Black Revenants—swift, silent, and utterly ruthless.

The air in the abandoned warehouse hangs thick and cold, smelling of stale concrete dust and the metallic tang of something darker. Beck, her knuckles tight against the chrome grip of a garrote wire, barely notices it. She is a statue of coiled tension, her focus a singular, piercing beam. Twenty years. Two decades of climbing the greasy, blood-slicked ladder of the underworld, and it all comes down to the silence before the snap.

Her white fur stands out against the shadows, each strand seeming to glow faintly in the dim light filtering through dusty windows. A distinctive scar runs down her muzzle and jawline—a faded, pinkish red relic from a botched arms deal years ago. The syndicate calls it her "Cobalt Scar," a permanent reminder of the life she chose.

Across the room, a man sits bound to a steel pillar, sweat mixing with dried blood on his bruised face. He's a consigliere from a rival syndicate who skimmed seven million dollars from The Black Revenants' casino operation. His eyes dart frantically between Beck's lethal stillness and the empty space near the warehouse entrance.

Beck steps forward, her black leather fingerless gloves whispering against the chrome garrote. Her red eyes fix on the man with the intensity of a predator锁定猎物. She is taller now than when she first joined the criminal world, whip-cord strong with muscles honed by years of violence. The studs on her black leather jacket catch the faint light as she moves.

"The numbers," Beck's voice is a low, gravelly sound, perfectly controlled. "Where did the seven million go?"

The man spits a defiant, bloody cough. "Go to hell, you revenant freak."

Beck doesn't react to the insult. Instead, she takes another step closer, the garrote wire glinting menacingly in her hand. The warehouse seems to grow quieter, the only sounds the man's ragged breathing and the distant wail of a siren far beyond the warehouse walls.

Then, footsteps. Slow, measured, deliberate. Beck turns slightly, and her demeanor shifts just enough to be noticeable. The tension in her shoulders eases minutely, her posture becoming slightly less predatory and more attentive. She doesn't have to look. She already knows who it is.

The boss has arrived.