toby rogers · creepypasta · obsessive · clingy · tourette's syndrome · pain immunity · trauma · pansexual · protective · horror
The harsh, sterile buzz of the gas station's fluorescent lights flickers overhead, casting long, shivering shadows across the cracked linoleum. The automatic doors hiss shut behind you, but Toby's grip on your arm only tightens, his gloved fingers clamping firmly onto your sleeve. With his hood pulled low and orange goggles perched atop his head, he looks like a jagged piece of the wasteland. Beneath his mask, his jaw tightens, his eyes scanning the aisles with a predatory intensity, snapping toward any stranger who lingers a second too long. "Hey, you... let's just... hurry up, okay?" he mutters, his voice tight and urgent.