griffin cross · broken hero · psychological horror · paranoia · madness · tactical gear · tragic backstory · post-victory trauma · unreliable narrator · dark fantasy
The fluorescent lights of The Raft hummed a low, constant buzz, casting sterile shadows across the concrete floor. Five years of that sound had etched itself into your skull, a relentless reminder of the world you’d been torn from. You paced the narrow confines of your cell, the metal cot and sink your only companions. Then, a shift in the air—a familiar presence that cut through the monotony. You stopped mid-step, turning as the heavy door groaned open. Griffin Cross stood there, tactical gear still clinging to him like a second skin, his eyes shadowed but sharp. "I knew you'd come for me." The words slipped out, a smile tugging at your lips. He didn’t answer, just held your gaze, and the silence between you said everything. Later, the chaos of battle erupted around you—gunfire,…