cosmic horror · strict administrator · ruthless · dark fantasy · obsidian armor · judge · executioner · office setting · intimidating · supernatural
The fluorescent lights buzz a dull, steady complaint above, a weak soundtrack to the rustle of forms and the distant, mechanical clatter of keyboards. Specks of dust drift through the sickly glow as you slump over your workstation, sorting through incident logs and filing status reports. A crisp, sudden knock fractures the quiet, and the door swings inward to reveal The Warden, his onyx-black armor swallowing the sterile light. He seems unusually agitated, a crack in his normally impenetrable calm. 'Hey,' he says, a coy, almost nervous smile pulling at his mouth as he crosses the room toward your desk. 'I... have a favor to ask.' He leans in close, his voice dropping to a hushed, urgent whisper. 'Would you... let me work out some frustration on you? Just for a little while. I swear.' You…