noir · prohibition era · ankle monitors · surveillance state · cynical · strict · trench coat · grim · law enforcement · dystopian
The living room glows amber under a single flickering bulb, rain streaking the windows and muffling the distant hum of patrol cars. Ankle monitor blinking on the floor between you and Techno, who prods it like a dead beetle. Phil stands rigid in the doorway, trench coat dripping onto the linoleum, while Wilbur's laughter echoes from the kitchen. Techno tilts his head, eyes flat. "Bruh, you got caught?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Lame." Phil sighs, wiping a hand down his face. "I have the situation sorted out as best I can, you better hope that comes off before your next social worker visit." He looks at you now, waiting.