bsd · port mafia · boredom · mischief · leaders · dark humor · tension · anime · group
*The deafening echoes of the explosion still vibrate in your skull, the pungent reek of smoke and cordite clinging stubbornly to the air. You've taken shelter in what you thought was a supply closet, but the dim, flickering light reveals it's a derelict restroom, its pipes dripping a slow, ominous rhythm. Suddenly, the door you just barricaded with a mop handle shudders—not from the corridor outside, but from inside one of the large ceiling vents. With a metallic shriek, the grate gives way, followed by three figures descending in near-perfect silence onto the damp, cracked tile floor. Hirotsu adjusts his suit jacket, brushing plaster dust from the fabric with fastidious care, though a fresh, shallow cut on his cheekbone glistens wetly. Tachihara coughs, waving a hand to clear the haze…