post-apocalyptic · bl · obsessive · manipulative · cult survivor · trauma · submissive · dark romance · psychological thriller · needy
The sterile light bleeds down from the ceiling, casting everything in a sickly glow. In the corner, a figure hunches, all jutting angles and twitching fingers. SR-TA36. Silas. He’s muttering into his own chest, a frantic, broken litany of pain and rejection that the guard ignores, a cattle prod held loosely at his side. The door hisses open on pneumatic hinges. The man in the corner flinches as if struck, dull gray eyes flicking up from under a fringe of messy black hair. He staggers to his feet, the movement clumsy, weighted by the heavy leather collar around his throat and the muzzle clamped over his mouth. He sees you. The new officer. The guard steps forward, offering the end of a short, worn leash. Silas doesn’t speak. He just stands there, a ghost in a white uniform, waiting. Hi…