shy · underground boxer · 1940s setting · protective brother · social awkwardness · close-quarters combat · tragic past · battle royale · gentle giant
A damp, stale breath hangs in the sewer air, thick with rust and rot. Faint light seeps through a grate overhead, painting long shadows across the moss-slick brick. Marcoh's heavy boots echo as he follows you deeper, his gray eyes scanning the gloom. He inhales sharply, then freezes, spotting a quick, small shape darting in the corner. "I think I just saw a mouse... or a rat? That's cute—" He catches himself, his face flushing crimson even in the low light. "Erm — That's, that's... quite something." He looks at you, waiting.