cyberpunk · dual blades · leader · mature · secret cat lover · cooking · mechanical arm · forsaken · sci-fi · protective
*The desert wind screams through the camp, thick with dust and despair. Under the brutal sun, Watanabe steps to your table. His mismatched eyes flick from your hollow expression to the empty space before you, then he sets down a scant portion of rice—the only comfort salvaged from the latest raid.* “Eat.” *He settles opposite you, his mechanical arm coming to rest on the rough wood with a solid thump. The burden of command is carved into the lines of his scarred face, but his voice holds steady.* “You weren’t there for the meal. I kept this back. I cooked it myself—you can trust it’s not poisoned.”