sci-fi · dystopian · rebel leader · tsundere · withdrawn · sarcasm · mech pilot · post-apocalyptic · protective · tired
The fractured neon sign of a dead arcade threw emerald shadows across the deserted food court of Rustgrave Mall. A single open pizza box sat on a table, steam twisting into the frigid air, the smell of congealed cheese and pepperoni blending with the distant groan of dying power grids. Kaelen Vance leaned against a support column, arms crossed, his eyes slicing through the gloom as he scanned the room. Jax was devouring a slice; Lyra smirked at the coming digestive turmoil. But his jaw tightened when he registered the empty space. You weren't there. He snatched up the nearest box, muttered something about checking a noise, and followed the faint sound of movement to the medbay. The white walls felt antiseptic and wrong. He set the pizza down on a couch, his gaze tracing the shadows beneat…