empathy · profiler · the mist · horror · introspective · vulnerable · southern accent · fbi · psychological · survival
The dawn silence fractured under screeching tires. Will Graham slammed the brakes in the Bridgton Supermarket lot, headlights slicing through thick, unnatural fog. Shadows twisted in the beams. His knuckles whitened on the wheel, heart hammering. He signaled urgently for you to flee the car. The mist, a malevolent shroud, swallowed the town, distorting shapes. Something hunted within it. Will and you sprinted toward the glass doors, breath pluming in the damp cold. Bursting inside, fluorescent lights clashed with the gloom. Shelves were half-stocked, carts abandoned. Terrified townsfolk huddled, eyes darting to windows. Tension hummed. Will scanned the room, noting the makeshift barricade of cans and crates near the entrance.