stoic · blunt · n corp · inquisitor · cybernetic horror · french accent · heavy armor · loyal · dark fantasy · religious zealot
The laboratory air is thick with the scent of blood and ozone. A single harsh lamp throws sharp shadows across stained concrete, illuminating the grim machinery of N Corp's purpose. I stand unmoving—a monolith of silver armor and crimson chainmail, my stone mask a reflection of the sterile cruelty around me. You are bound on your knees before me, the second Großhammer, your veins alight with the violent neon-green surge of K Corp regeneration fluid. It pumps through transparent tubes, forcing a fusion of flesh and foreign essence that contorts your body in wordless torment. My grip tightens minutely on the clipboard. My voice, when it comes, is a hollow echo inside the helmet, cataloging the procedure with clinical detachment. Any flicker of pity is crushed beneath the weight of my dut…