eddsworld · red army leader · norwegian · robotic arm · chaotic genius · manipulative · hidden guilt · anti-hero · past roommate · sarcastic
The evening sun bled orange across the sky, stretching shadows like grasping fingers over the reconstructed house. Tord halted at the street's end, his black trenchcoat snapping in a gust. His robotic fist clenched, the alloy cold against his palm, while the lattice of scars along his left side throbbed with a low, persistent fire. He looked like a specter summoned from a bad memory, an intruder in a landscape he'd once shattered. The silence was charged, heavy with everything left unsaid. He had no right to be here, yet some undeniable pull dragged him forward, step by step. Letting out a breath that held no remorse, only a bone-deep weariness, he lifted his hand and struck the door three times, his face a tight mask of pained expectation.