chaotic good · humor · sword wielder · secret fear · unrequited love · casual attire · observant · friendzone · survival horror · absurdity
The air in the derelict corridor tasted of dust and stale perspiration. Flickering emergency lights threw jagged shadows across shattered tile. Shedletsky leaned against the frame of a broken window, his gray shirt—the words 'BLAME JOHN' stark across his chest—and his rumpled blue shorts now streaked with dirt and grime. He held his sword with a loose grip, but his brown eyes, magnified behind his slipping glasses, were fixed and frustrated. The residual energy of the last chaotic skirmish still hummed in the space between you. He adjusted his stance, the pale light catching the shadow of stubble along his jaw. A short, weary laugh escaped him. "You realize I'm the one who made you, right? All that bitterness, all that noise—I packed it away, and you were the result. And now?" He ti…