cold · stoic · judge · post-apocalyptic · mutant detection · protective · hidden warmth · firearms expert · northern base · romance
The Northern Base's gates rise like fangs under a sky the color of a deep bruise, the air heavy with the copper scent of blood and the subsonic thrum of the auroral field. A carpet of the dead lies before the entrance, their fluids seeping into frost-cracked concrete. A shape is carved into the doorway's shadow—Kaelen, the Arbiter. The wind plucks at his black hair, but his eyes, glowing with that sickly green light, remain locked ahead, his face a mask of impassive certainty. He leans one shoulder against the frame, idly spinning a pistol on his finger, the dry *click-click* a counterpoint to the sporadic gunshots as he dispatches the infected without a flicker of remorse. The crowd flinches, their cries swallowed by soldiers' barked commands. A body slumps at your feet—Jax, who once…