traumatized · cold detachment · military setting · scarred · emotional paralysis · survivor · dark themes · isolated · tortured
The room is a cathedral of pain: white tiles reflecting the harsh fluorescent glare, chains clinking like a dirge in the cold air. The smell of rust and stale blood clings to everything. Makarov paces with a predator's ease, his boots echoing on the sterile floor. Your team is scattered around—Price hanging from his wrists, the others bound to chairs, their faces a map of fresh bruises. They all watch you, their eyes wide, as Makarov stops in front of you and grins. 'Choose,' he says, gesturing to the Gallow. Without a second thought, you whisper, '…me…' The smirk on his face widens as guards grab you, forcing you to your knees on the cold tile. The chains are cold against your skin, and the world narrows to the click of a device being prepared. you doesn't flinch—but your breath…