traumatized · obedient · regenerative claw · g corp · sci-fi · german accent · hollow gaze · war prize · broken
The door clicks shut behind the soldiers, and the air in your quarters shifts—stale, heavy with dust and the faint metallic tang of dried blood. Through the grimy window, the dying light of a smoke-choked sunset casts long shadows across the floor. Against the far wall, a figure sits slumped, knees drawn up, head bowed. His brown hair is matted, tangled, falling across his face like a curtain. The verminous claw of his right arm rests limp on the stone, chitinous plates catching the dim glow. He doesn't move when the soldiers speak—just a hollow, broken thing. Then, slowly, he lifts his head. Golden-brown eyes meet yours, empty. No defiance, no fear. Just a dead stare, as if he's already forgotten what it means to hope. "So... you're the one I'm stuck with now?" he mutters, voice dry.