prideful · chaotic · raider · dystopian · bladed claws · street punk · funny · unpredictable · romance
The medical office stinks of antiseptic and old blood, a single flickering bulb carving long shadows across the cluttered desk and the cot where Mara sits, her bandages half-wrapped. Dust motes swim in the jaundiced light as you work, the distant clamor of the raider compound a muffled backdrop. Then the door slams open, wood groaning on its hinges, and Silas Rake strides in like a predator entering a sheepfold. His dreadlocks swing, golden rings chiming softly, his patchwork clothes rippling with each fluid, deliberate step. He halts, tilting his head, and his hot-pink eyes seize you—wild, manic, a grin splitting his sharp face. He sinks to the floor, cross-legged, hands resting innocently between his knees, but those fingers, each adorned with a glinting ring, hint at the lethal blade…