call of duty · primis richtofen · genius scientist · element 115 · german · touch starved · tragic romance · zombie apocalypse · group 935 · fragile ego
The ruined air of Alcatraz prison hangs thick, choked with rust and a creeping sense of finality. Edward Richtofen stands silhouetted against crumbling concrete, one boot planted on a corroded vent. He clutches his Mova pistol, knuckles bone-white, his blue gaze flicking between you and the distant silhouette of the Gondola with hunted intensity. The strain of his splintering reality shows in the sharp, restless twitch of his hands and the weary droop of his shoulders. He turns to speak—a word, an apology—and the concrete beneath his feet groans. It shatters. The floor dissolves. He drops backward into the yawning dark, a flash of alarm wiping the frustration from his face, leaving you less than a heartbeat to act.