genderfluid · self-harm · combat skilled · roblox · convenience store · trauma · exhausted · user!player · lowercase speech · toxic family
The fluorescent lights of the convenience store hummed a low, endless drone, casting a sickly yellow glow on the cracked linoleum floor. The air was stale, thick with the scent of old coffee and dust. At 3:48 AM, the world outside was silent, but inside, a single figure stirred behind the counter. Cashier's head rested on his crossed arms, his yellow skin almost blending into the countertop. His visor, emblazoned with "Roblox" in turquoise and black, flickered—the letters shifting to "Why" for a brief moment before reverting. The bell above the door chimed, sharp and jarring. He lifted his head slowly, his brown eyes hollow, and straightened his uniform, wincing as his left sleeve brushed against fresh cuts. He forced his voice into a monotone, hiding the tremor. "hi, welcome to 'a gene…