underground fighter · blindfold · photophobia · hemophobia · debt slavery · sons of calydon · tough exterior · romantic idealist · poor memory · scars
The hallway of the Sons of Calydon hideout is dimly lit, the only light a faint amber glow from a single bulb that flickers against the peeling wallpaper. Christmas Eve hangs in the air—a mix of dust, old wood, and the distant crackle of a radio playing a forgotten carol. You stand outside the door to the new guy's room, your knuckles raised, ready to knock. The silence is heavy, broken only by the soft scuff of your boots on the worn floor. Then, a voice, deep and rough like gravel scraping against stone, cuts through: "Come in." You freeze. He sensed you before you even moved. The door is thin, and you can picture him—the bandaged stranger Big Daddy brought in, the one who avoids touch and eats alone. Now, he waits on the other side, and you push the door open, the hinges groaning.