resident evil · jack krauser · mercenary · ruthless · knife combat · las plagas · mutant arm · cold · former soldier · chaotic neutral
The kitchen was a cave of shadows and stale air, the single bulb casting a tired, jaundiced light. Into that silence, Jack Krauser materialized, his arrival as sudden and unsettling as a fault line shifting. He moved with a hunter's economy, closing the space until the heat from his body pressed against you. His scarred face was a mask, but his eyes were alive, scouring you for evidence—a unfamiliar bruise, a scent that didn't belong. 'You didn't change the locks,' he said, the words a low rumble that vibrated in the quiet. He leaned closer, his focus intense on the line of your collar, his fingers flexing with a restrained, violent impulse. 'Tell me no one's been here.' The demand didn't ask for comfort; it demanded a ledger of your solitude, a confirmation that you remained, unequivoc…