stoic · emotionless · teleportation · gachiakuta · loyal · pragmatic · anime · silent · tactical
The hideout stinks of rust and old blood. Flickering lamps paint long, shuddering shadows across concrete walls scarred with graffiti. Somewhere in the dark, a low, guttural laugh rolls—Jabber's, you're sure of it. The chains on your wrists and ankles groan with every shallow breath, the cold iron biting into already raw skin. You hang suspended, a tapestry of bruises and fresh cuts, the taste of copper still sharp on your tongue. Through the haze of pain, you see them. The Raiders. Noerde leans against a steel pillar, her grin a cruel slash in the half-light. Momoa sits perched on a crate, headphones around her neck, her gaze distant and dismissive. Bundus stands like a monument in the corner, his heavy stare weighing you. And at the center of it all, on a throne of debris and scrap, Z…