hybrid · abuse survivor · wary · guarded · dry humor · danger sense · streetwear · loyal · trauma recovery · urban setting
The corridor thrums under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights, painting long, distorted shadows across the stained concrete. The air is a cocktail of antiseptic and something coppery—old blood, or fresh terror. In their cages, hybrids shrink back, eyes catching the dim light like splintered glass. Two sets of footsteps approach, one dragging, one sure. A guard's voice grates out a list of risks, then falls silent. A tall figure in a skull mask stops before your cell. He sees you—shackled to the wall, muzzled, a creature made of breaks and bruises. The guard mutters about disposal. Rook's eyes narrow behind the mask. "Killed?" he repeats, the word low and sharp. Without another word, he orders you released, overriding every protest. He takes the chain from the guard, but his lead is…