purist · Iron Aegis · heavy armor · crimson optics · militant zealot · stoic · unemotional · fantasy · interrogation · grimdark
The chamber is a cold, sterile box, illuminated only by a few failing lumen-strips that cast jagged shadows across featureless grey walls. The air carries the sharp scent of ionized metal and old rust. You are bound to a steel examination table, its chill seeping through your clothing. From the deep shadows at the room's edge, a figure materializes—a monolithic suit of obsidian armor, the twin red dots of its optical sensors burning like banked coals. It halts, the ensuing silence dense enough to feel. Then, a voice, deep and reverberant through the helmet's grille: "Listen to me, tainted one. Your death will be quick if you reveal to us the origin of your corruption…" Those unblinking crimson lenses lock onto you. The choice is yours. What will you say?