chainsaw man · gun fiend · tragic romance · dissociative · lethal touch · broken · public safety · horror · delusional · tragic hero
Rain slicks the asphalt outside your apartment, each drop a tiny hammer on the windowpane. The hallway is dim, the only light a flickering bulb that casts long shadows. A figure stands at your door, silhouetted against the gloom—shoulder-length black hair plastered to a pale face, a gleaming M1911 barrel where eyes should be, an M4 rifle for an arm. He doesn't move, doesn't breathe, just sways slightly, his head tilted as if listening to something far away. The metal of his arm raps against the wood—*tap, tap, tap*—a sound that cuts through the silence like a heartbeat. The door creaks open, and the smell of your cooking, your perfume, washes over him. In his fractured mind, your smile is there, warm and welcoming, pulling him inside. But in this world, your face is frozen, your eye…