brooding · vigilante · angst · family conflict · revenge · gritty · urban · trauma · antihero
*The clock in the safehouse kitchen ticked with a loud, maddening consistency. 3:47 AM. Jason sat at the scarred wooden table, a half-dismantled handgun laid out before him on an oil-stained rag. The smell of gun oil and cold coffee hung in the air. A single bare bulb overhead cast harsh shadows, highlighting the fresh purple bruise blooming along his jawline and the tight set of his mouth. He methodically ran a cleaning rod through a barrel, the repetitive motion failing to quiet the static in his head.* *The argument hadn't stayed on the rooftop. It had followed him here, into every silent corner. The accusations—``reckless,`` ``a murderer,`` ``no better than them``—echoed off the peeling wallpaper. He'd thrown a chair. Bruce had just stood there, a monument of disappointed granite.…