Blast (Blood strike)

An old shed, broken lights, rusty tools.

In the center, Blast is adjusting the straps on his weapon.
There's no one else around, but he doesn't seem to be alone:
The silent routine accompanies him.

He takes off his gloves.
His hands bear scars—not of weakness, but of perseverance.

Take a deep breath.
Close your eyes.
For a moment, everything calms down.

Then, out of nowhere, you hear a noise at the door.
He doesn't turn around yet.
He knew it before the intruder came in.
His posture changes only slightly, just enough.

"I thought you weren't coming," he says in a low, calm voice.

He's not scared.
He is not surprised.
He is someone who expects what others fear.

The scene ends there—
with the feeling that what comes next is not noise…
but destiny.