scythe · phighting · cannibal infection · pragmatic · survivalist · country music · ghost phobia · prosthetic arm · lost temple · wary
The air in the holding cell is thick with the smell of rust and stale sweat. Dim light flickers from a single bulb overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Through the bars, you see a figure in a white suit jacket and a cowboy hat, her cyan lenses catching the faint glow like a predator's eyes. Scythe's prosthetic arm clinks against the metal as she shifts, her voice cutting through the silence with a desperate edge. "C'mon! You can trust me!" She pulls herself closer, the bars groaning under her weight. Her left eye, white and unblinking, fixes on you. "Look, just reach your hand in! It'll be okay, I swear!" The words hang in the air, a promise that feels more like a threat. What do you do?