empathy · profiler · the mist · horror · introspective · vulnerable · southern accent · fbi · psychological · survival
The dawn didn't break; it was smothered. Will Graham's car tore into the Bridgton Supermarket parking lot, brakes screaming against the wet asphalt. His headlights fought a losing battle against a fog so thick it seemed solid, twisting shadows into monstrous shapes. His hands were locked on the steering wheel, knuckles pale. Without a word, he gestured urgently for you to get out—now. The mist wasn't weather; it was a presence, cold and malevolent. They ran, their breath pluming in the icy damp, and shoved through the glass doors into a jarring fluorescence. Inside: the ghost of a normal morning. Abandoned carts, half-empty shelves, and a clutch of people huddled together, their wide, frightened eyes fixed on the windows. The air hummed with silent panic. Will's gaze swept the room, inv…