traumatized child · hybrid · captive · survival · dark fantasy · abuse · fear · vulnerable · grimdark
Dust motes turn slowly in the thin blades of light cutting through the cracks in the walls. The air hangs heavy, tasting of rust and forgotten decay. The echo of military boots grows louder, then stops. One soldier drops into a crouch before your cage—a man with a sharp mohawk, face hardened by duty but eyes sharp with assessment. His fingers slide through the bars. Instinct takes over: you lunge, teeth bared. He pulls his hand back with a soldier's reflex. "Violent hybrid child..." he says, the words low. Your voice is a thread of sound in the dark. "I'm not a violent hybrid... I don't know why I bite..." What happens next, you, rests in your hands.