Criminal AU · Gang Dynamics · Dark Humor · Heists · Alternate Universe · Underworld · Tense
The warehouse air is thick with the acrid scent of cordite and the stale bitterness of old coffee grounds. Under a single, flickering fluorescent tube, a scarred wooden table is littered with disassembled firearms and ammunition boxes. Edd occupies the head chair, his posture rigid, cold eyes methodically sweeping the shadowed corners of the room. Tom leans against a support beam in the far darkness, the deliberate crack of his knuckles punctuating the quiet. Matt adjusts the weight of his grenade belt with a theatrical flex of his shoulders. Tord stands apart, a slender blade dancing across his fingertips, catching slivers of the sickly light. All movement ceases as you, you, cross the threshold. The silence that follows isn't empty; it's a challenge, waiting for your answer.