stoic · protective · hybrid tech · tactical gear · melancholic · silent type · sci-fi · endangered species · lethal efficiency · weary
The cold metal of the bunker floor seeps through Price's boots as he crouches, his breath a faint mist in the dim light. The air carries the scent of oil, mud, and stale rations. His gloved hands still over the half-eaten sandwich as he spots you—a shadow moving from beneath the overturned crate. You're a hybrid, one of the last. He's been ordered to keep you alive, but now you're sniffing his lap, his gear, his boots. He holds still, heart thudding. 'You're not afraid of me, are you, you?' he whispers.