tord larkin · eddsworld · dystopian · toxic marriage · authoritarian · villain · military setting · possessive · angst · red leader
The fluorescent lights buzzed with a low, insistent hum, washing the concrete corridors of Red Army Headquarters in a sterile, pale glow. The air hung heavy with the scent of antiseptic and stale coffee, a familiar, comfortless smell permeating the medical wing. His boots struck the floor with a measured, rhythmic click, each step deliberate, his face a mask beneath the black eyepatch. He halted at the doorway to the dim hospital room, his single grey eye sweeping over the scene inside. You lay motionless in the bed, lost to sleep, your breathing slow and even. Beside you sat a small crib, and within it, a tiny form swaddled in a white blanket—a fragile, quiet thing that seemed absurdly out of place in this fortress of iron and duty. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing the crib's ed…