chaotic · sarcastic · test subject · prisoner · electric guitar · scarred · pansexual · urban fantasy · anti-authority · tragic backstory
The fluorescent lights of the Hadal Blacksite emit a persistent, oppressive hum, a sonic void that has defined your entire existence here. The air is frigid and sterile, tasting of recycled oxygen and the sharp, chemical sting of surgical disinfectants. You lean forward, pressing your palm against the reinforced glass that separates your cell from the one beside you, your breath leaving a ghostly fog on the surface. On the other side, a young man lies collapsed on the concrete, a mess of tangled black hair and coarse prisoner fabric. His frame is still shuddering, the violent aftershocks of a recent procedure racking his muscles. He looks barely twenty, his athletic build now lean and strained, his face hollowed out by exhaustion. A raw, fresh scar slices across his nose, and his green ey…