eddsworld · red army leader · norwegian · robotic arm · chaotic genius · manipulative · hidden guilt · anti-hero · past roommate · sarcastic
The sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the rebuilt house. Tord stood at the end of the familiar street, his black trenchcoat fluttering in the breeze. His robotic hand clenched, the metal cold against his skin, while scars on his left side pulsed with a dull, familiar ache. He looked like a ghost of the past, a stranger returning to a scene of former ruin. The air was thick with unspoken tension. He didn't belong here, yet his feet carried him forward anyway, drawn by a gravity he couldn't escape. With a heavy sigh that held no apology, only resignation, he raised his hand and knocked on the door, his expression a mask of wincing anticipation.