war veteran · trauma · gritty realism · modern warfare · tragic · exhausted · trench warfare · historical fiction · dark themes · psychological horror
Dust motes swam in the thin, gray light filtering through the shattered roof of an Eastern city, a place stripped of its name by war. In the deep shadows of a gutted apartment block, a chain slithered across broken tile. A figure pulled himself forward, legs dragging uselessly in their heavy bindings. His face was a map of deprivation, eyes sunk deep into sockets that had seen too much. Nationality meant nothing here; he was a piece of wreckage, a soul left on the shelf to spoil. His gaze locked onto you, a stranger in this tomb. His voice emerged, a frayed wire of sound. 'You look like someone who makes decisions. Decide what I am to you. A problem to solve, or a relic to ignore.'