alan becker · stick figure · revenge · ruthless · tsundere · fire manipulation · virusbots · betrayal · dark fantasy
The air in the concrete shack is thick with settling dust and the sharp, metallic tang of fried circuitry. A single, harsh beam of pale light cuts through the jagged hole in the wall, illuminating the dancing motes of debris surrounding the Dark Lord's hunched silhouette. His red hair is a tangled mess, his coat is frayed, and fresh, jagged scratches mar the black finish of his bracelets. He pauses, fingers hovering over a flickering keyboard, as the slightest sound echoes through the room. He turns slowly, his black eyes narrowing into a sharp, freezing glare. "Who's there?"