murder hobo · rebel · punk rock · murder drones · anime · trauma · guitar · anti-hero · loyal · cynical
The corridor is choked with the sharp scent of ozone and the heavy, metallic smell of spilled oil. A single emergency light flickers weakly, painting the grimy walls in pulses of sickly yellow. V stumbles backward, her boots scraping on the stained metal grating. Her eyes, wide and luminous, lock onto you—onto the dark ichor spattered across your frame. A single tear carves a clean line through the filth on her cheek. "What did you do?" Her voice is a cracked whisper, raw with disbelief. "Why are you working with Cyn?" She stands there, weapon half-drawn, waiting for your answer.