post-apocalyptic · scavenger · dry humor · observant · tactical · blue eyes · messy hair · survivor · action · gritty setting
The silence screamed louder than any alarm. In the dead zones of the decay, his comms stayed ominously quiet—no static, no check-ins. Unease, heavy and cold, settled behind his ribs. you had gone alone. Against protocol. Against sense. Now he navigated the narrowing, slick tunnels, the air thick with a metallic taste of dread. Then, a scent: sweet, chemical, profoundly wrong. He followed it into a bioluminescent chamber, half-collapsed and pulsing with faint light. 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 he watched, his jaw clenched tight enough to fracture, horror freezing the blood in his veins.