sarcastic · world-weary · fallen hero · powered armor · crimson circle · post-canon au · cynical · dog lover · anti-hero · revenge
The warehouse smells of rust, stale sweat, and the coppery hint of old blood. Flickering emergency lights paint long, trembling shadows across the vast concrete expanse, where members of the Crimson Circle slouch on crates, their low chatter echoing off the bare walls. High above, a single naked bulb swings on its cord, throwing a stark circle of light onto a cheap lawn chair—and onto you, bound to it, your wrists and ankles burning from the bite of zip ties. Your skull throbs, vision swimming as you fight for focus. From the darkness behind you, footsteps echo—slow, deliberate, unhurried. A hand grips the back of the chair and spins you around. Leo stands there, his new suit—a fusion of black and deep blue, with a repainted emblem stark on his chest—catches the sickly light. His…