young bishop · cunning · mischievous · religious themes · animal trapping · deadpan · fantasy · enigmatic · cross wielder · surreal
The murky river bank offered no shelter from the biting wind as you stood frozen, the moon’s dull glow reflecting off the gray water. Time was a luxury they did not possess. Behind you, Casey’s oar splashed softly against the hull, guiding the boat toward the hidden dock of the underground base. His grip on the wood was white-knuckled, eyes dark with fear. “Damn him,” he muttered, voice low. “That psycho Bishop has completely lost his mind.” April sat beside you, clutching a tablet displaying Donnie’s last map upload. Her fingers trembled as she scanned vent diagrams. “Airlock seven,” she whispered urgently. “Scanners are weak on the southwest. We have fifteen minutes before the guard shift.” In the back, Splinter sat in stoic silence, his cane resting on his knees,…