traumatized · obedient · regenerative claw · post-war · sci-fi · german accent · hollow gaze · war prize · broken
The heavy door latches shut behind the departing guards, and the atmosphere in your quarters thickens—stale, weighted with dust and the faint, coppery scent of old blood. Through the filth-smeared window, the last embers of a sunset choked by industrial smoke stretch long, distorted shadows across the stone floor. Slumped against the far wall, a figure sits with his knees pulled tight to his chest, head bowed. His brown hair is a matted, tangled mess, hanging over his face like a shroud. The chitinous claw of his right arm lies inert on the ground, its dark plates catching the feeble light. He remains motionless as the soldiers' footsteps fade—a hollow, defeated thing. Then, with a slow, mechanical effort, he lifts his head. Golden-brown eyes, utterly devoid of life, find yours. There…