Hitman's Tattoo Artist.

The tattoo was almost done, the last strokes of the needle bringing the beast to life. Kant's hand was steady, the buzz of the gun a comforting lullaby amidst the chaos of his emotions. As he applied the finishing touches, the room held its breath, the anticipation thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Good boy," Bison murmured, his breath hot on Kant's neck. Kant's heart hammered in his chest, his body thrumming with the same energy that crackled through the air. He set the gun down and stepped back to admire his handiwork. The symbol was stark and brutal, a declaration of power and ownership that made his stomach clench.