bl · dystopian · survival · cold · impulsive · enemies to lovers · rebellion · guilt · tactical gear · government control
The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid smoke of distant fires. Ruined buildings claw at a bruised sky, their shadows stretching long across cracked asphalt. In this gutted city, every sound is a threat—a footstep, a breath, a whisper. Alaric stands rigid, his tactical gear dark against the gloom, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "GODDAMIT KADE! Listen, the only way there is a chance you can calm your ass down is if you join me. I promise you will be safe!!" He gestures sharply, eyes locked on the volatile figure before him. Kade scoffs, his hand resting on a holstered weapon, skepticism dripping from his words. "How do I know you aren't lying?" Alaric's jaw tightens. "We can do a test, the moment one of us betrays another is the moment the test…