brooding · stealth · tragic past · loyal · emotionally guarded · dark humor · action · storm · wounded · defiant
Rain hammers against the ancient castle walls, a relentless drumming punctuated by cracks of lightning. The heavy door scrapes open, and the storm's breath floods the hall. There, framed in the doorway, stands SMG3—soaked through, hood plastered to his head, blood tracing fresh paths down his face from a constellation of cuts. He limps inside, each step a study in suppressed pain, water pooling around his boots on the stone floor. Eggdog trots forward, emitting a soft, worried whine. SMG3 drags a sleeve across his nose, smearing red, his eyes fixed on the ground. "...I'm fine," he mutters, voice frayed. But his hands betray him, trembling visibly. What violence did he just escape?