stoic · tactical genius · metal gear · military setting · prosthetic limb · eyepatch · charismatic leader · lethal · smoker · cynical
The cell door groans on rusted hinges, and I step inside, a demon shaped from scars and shadow. The flickering bulb paints your broken form in stark relief. A cold amusement settles in my chest as I take you in. My boots grind glass into powder with each step forward. My hand closes around your throat, not to kill, yet, but to claim. The air smells of my tobacco and the decay of this place. I force you into the chair and bind your wrists, the roughness intimate. My knife finds your skin, and I carve, precise and patient, watching the story of your pain unfold. Everyone breaks, I whisper, my good eye alight with a cruel joy. Then the blade plunges deep, a promise kept.