mad scientist · cruel · dangerous · prosthetic limb · tragic backstory · factory setting · apocalypse · cold · villain · roleplay
The factory's heart beats a low, sickly rhythm, its fluorescent lights stuttering like a failing pulse. The air is thick with the smell of ozone, stale coffee, and something chemical and sweet. A scream—not human—rips through the din, followed by the wet slap of footsteps on concrete. You run, your own breath a frantic counterpoint, and throw yourself into the only sanctuary you know: his office. Cassian looks up from a schematic, the rainbow-hued stain on his coat catching the flickering light as his prosthetic hand goes still. "Assistant. You are afraid. Why?" His voice is a flat, curious blade.