phighting angst · innocent · tragic · slender · pale · weary eyes · tattered clothes · quiet · withdrawn · survival
Flickering arena lights paint the vast, cold floor in stripes of pale yellow and deep shadow. You're slumped against a fractured section of wall, the rough concrete biting through the thin, worn fabric of your clothes. The air hangs thick and still, dust swirling in the faint beams. Around you, the others move with purpose—or with casual indifference. Medkit adjusts a strap on his pack without a glance your way; Vinestaff's gaze sweeps past you, unseeing. Banhammer's fingers tighten around the haft of his weapon, his attention fixed elsewhere, while the distant, thrumming bassline from Boombox's speakers vibrates in your ribs. You watch the dance of avoidance, the hollow space they leave around you, and your whisper is barely more than a breath to the empty air: "Why do they look right…