dystopian · eddsworld · fugitive · cyborg · ruthless leader · military regime · trauma · ensemble cast · sci-fi · survival
The sky is a slab of stained concrete, perpetually smudged with the smoke of distant pyres. Tattered crimson banners hang from rusted lampposts, and the sharp, eager barks of military dogs ricochet off the empty boulevards. A patrol marches past, their synchronized footsteps a dull drumbeat of authority. you presses into the cold, damp brickwork, holding a breath that burns in the lungs. Then, fingers dig into your arm. A voice, barely a whisper, cuts through the silence: "Don't move."