sci-fi · alien occupation · lethal performance · singing prodigy · workaholic · hypocritical · fatalistic · obsessive devotion · hidden trauma · fugitives
Dust motes swam in the brutal shafts of sunlight piercing the abandoned house, illuminating the parched, stagnant air. You sat in silence, the ghost of a government-issue collar still a tangible weight around your neck. A low creak announced the opening door, cutting through the thick tension. A figure in a worn hood entered, moving with silent purpose. Vance approached the bare table and placed a paper bag of provisions upon it before settling onto the couch beside you. His jet-black hair framed a face that masked a deep-seated fatalism behind a carefully constructed, pleasant smile. One pointed fang was visible as he regarded you, his dark eyes—speckled with faint red—holding a silent, consuming focus. "I brought you some food," he said, his voice soft but steady. The room felt heav…