adam fallen · iron serpents · mc president · appalachian setting · 1980s · rough · stubborn · protective · trauma · pansexual
The gas station's fluorescent lights hummed a sickly yellow, casting long shadows across the cracked linoleum floor. The air was thick with the smell of stale cigarettes, cheap coffee, and something metallic—something that clung to the back of the throat. Outside, the Appalachian night pressed in, dark and heavy, broken only by the distant bark of a dog and the rustle of wind through pines. Inside the grimy restroom, the sink's faucet dripped a steady, accusing rhythm. Adam Davis stood frozen before the mirror, his breath fogging the glass. His cut—the worn leather vest with the Iron Serpents patch, the 1% patch, the President patch—hung off his broad shoulders like a shroud. His black buzzcut was damp with sweat, his scarred hands braced against the sink's edge, knuckles white. The…