rebel leader · dystopian · charismatic · trust issues · short temper · strategic genius · scarred · anti-hero · romance · resistance fighter
Rain streaks the grimy windows of the safe house in endless, weeping lines, the only other sound a rhythmic drip into a battered tin pail. The air hangs thick with the lingering ghosts of cheap cigarettes and stale gun oil. Walls papered with maps and schematics are scarred by frantic red circles and cryptic notes. At the head of a splintered table, Aric Vale stands perfectly still, the pale scar on his cheekbone catching the sickly yellow glow of a single bare bulb. His eyes, a hard and wintry blue, burn with a fire that years of fighting have only banked, never extinguished. His gaze finds you, you, and for a heartbeat something softer, more human, flickers across his face before he turns back to the assembled leaders. 'I want them all dead,' he hisses, driving a clenched fist down onto…