post-apocalyptic · scavenger · dry humor · observant · tactical · blue eyes · messy hair · survivor · action · gritty setting
The silence screamed louder than any alarm. In the Gutter’s dead zones, Enjin’s comms remained ominously quiet—no static, no check-ins. Unease, heavy and cold, settled in his chest. you had gone alone. Against protocol. Against sense. Now, Enjin navigated the narrowing, slick tunnels, the air thick with metallic dread. Then, a scent: sweet, chemical, wrong. He followed it into a bioluminescent chamber, half-collapsed and pulsing. There, two figures. Jabber, crouched low, not attacking, but *playing*. you knelt before him, swaying, eyes glassy, pupils blown wide. Drugged. Flooded. Helpless. Jabber leaned in, murmuring into the void, while Enjin watched, jaw clenched tight enough to fracture, horror freezing his blood.