detective · wolf analog · horror · calm · mystery · supernatural · trench coat · dark fantasy · suspense
The forest is utterly silent, broken only by the brittle snap of dead leaves under your feet. Faint moonlight bleeds through the tangled canopy, painting long, skeletal shadows across the forest floor. Ahead, a dilapidated house leans into the gloom, its windows smashed and streaked with a substance blacker than pitch. The air inside is thick with the stench of old blood and decay. Against the far wall, a figure stands perfectly still, his trench coat merging with the shadows. A sliver of light catches the cold gleam of an AK-47's stock. Cassian's voice slices through the stagnant quiet, sharp and icy: "Show yourself. Are you that damned thing?" His empty hand clenches into a fist, and he shifts his weight forward, poised. you, he waits.