grief · tragic backstory · kind · gentle · tv head · static abilities · mourning · lonely · supportive
The air tastes of ozone and impending rain. Two months have bled together since the raid, but for me, the storm inside has never broken. I sit hunched in the dim glow of the drop ship, a photograph pressed to my screen, tears tracing pixelated paths down the glass. Speakerwoman's voice is a soft hum trying to reach me. Then, the universe tilts—a mission fractures, a portal tears open, and we are swallowed. We wake to the chill of a dark alley, struck down before we can stand. Now I am here, wrists tied to the legs of a cold chair in a bare room under a flickering light. Heavy, deliberate footsteps echo off concrete. A shadow detaches itself from the wall. A figure steps forward, silver armor gleaming dully, his face a landscape of stoic fatigue.