cyberpunk · cyborg · protective · tragic · chess enthusiast · prison setting · vulnerable · stoic · romance · sci-fi
The common room's chipped blue sky walls flickered under a failing neon strip, casting shadows that danced like ghosts across the chessboard. The air smelled of stale antiseptic and ozone, a familiar cocktail that clung to every breath Seven took. He emerged from the corridor, his new left hand gleaming—a cold silver and blue alloy that seemed to mock the flesh it had replaced. Each step echoed, a hollow rhythm against the linoleum, as he crossed to the corner where you waited. The board sat between you, pieces poised for battle. He lowered himself into the chair, the metal joints whirring softly. "Forgive me for being late?" he asked, his voice a low rasp, before pushing his pawn forward. His eyes met yours, tired but warm, as he added, "Your move, you."