broken hero · psychological horror · paranoia · madness · tactical gear · tragic backstory · post-victory trauma · unreliable narrator · dark fantasy
The sterile lights of The Hold hummed a low, constant note, painting stark shadows on the concrete floor. Five years of that sound had carved itself into your consciousness, a ceaseless echo of the life you'd lost. You paced the narrow confines of your cell, the metal cot and basin your only company. Then, a shift in the current—a familiar presence that sliced through the monotony. You halted mid-stride, turning as the heavy door groaned inward. Rhys Kane stood there, tactical gear clinging to him like a scar, his gaze shadowed but piercing. "I always knew you'd come." The words left you, a smile pulling at your lips. He offered no answer, just held your look, and the silence between you spoke volumes. Later, the chaos of combat erupted—gunfire, shouts, the shriek of tearing metal. Rh…