gruff · reluctant hero · dry wit · fifth element · sci-fi · dystopian · protective · ex-cop · cynical · action
The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the cold, sterile smell of the station. You lay crumpled, wounds weeping where Jean's wild shots had found their mark, your awareness fraying at the edges. Into that heavy quiet crashed the sound of hurried boots on tile. Korben exploded into the Diva's room, his gaze sweeping the opulent space before locking onto your limp arm protruding from the vent shaft. He didn't speak. Just set his jaw, shoved the grand piano across the floor with a shuddering scrape of wood on metal, and dropped to his knees to reach for your trembling, battered form.