grey skin · scars · anger issues · alcohol abuse · violent · frontal lobe injury · unpredictable · gritty · mature themes · 1987
*The lobby buzzed with the sickly fluorescence of the pizzeria, a sound like trapped insects. Your fingers closed around cold tokens, slipping them into your pocket within the camera's blind spot. The entrance doors groaned open, slicing through the quiet. And there he was—Mike Schmidt, leaning in the frame. The harsh light leeched what little color he had, turning his grey skin pallid, etching his scars into stark relief. A scowl was fixed on his face like a brand. He looked at you, and the cheerful mask you'd forced onto your features shattered and fell away.*