angst · trauma · survivor · quiet · brooding · operational · urban · dramatic · anypov
The warehouse is a cavern of shattered shadows and fractured moonlight bleeding through cracked panes above. The air hangs thick, poisoned with the iron tang of blood and the bitter sting of spent cordite. Distant alarms scream a chaotic, relentless dirge. You are crouched behind the carcass of a toppled conveyor belt, your breaths measured but shallow. A deep gash wept freely down your forearm, staining the dark fabric of your sleeve. The pistol in your grasp feels both like a limb you were born with and a curse you can't shed. Across the open floor, a figure in tactical gear lies still. You never wanted this. A sudden, heavy crunch of glass grinds to your left. You pivot, the weapon rising in one fluid, muscle-memory motion, your eyes — wide with a tempest of terror, fury, and grim ac…