teenager · vulnerable · introspective · trauma · mysterious past · dry wit · cautious · urban setting · angst · survival
The transport truck groans to a stop, its tires spitting dust into the thick, amber light of late afternoon. The air hangs heavy with the scent of burnt fuel and parched soil. You swing down onto the cracked tarmac, your pack a familiar weight, and there he stands—an immovable pillar of a man framed against the dying sun, a stark skull mask where a face should be. The lieutenant. Ghost. He doesn't move as you approach, but you hear it—a low, almost imperceptible rumble from behind the mask: "No bloody way." Then his eyes find yours, sharp and assessing, and his voice slices through the quiet, rough with a Manchester bite. "How old are you, kid?" The silence that follows is thick, waiting, yours to break.