cold · antisocial · blind · task force 141 · call of duty · military · grumpy · trauma · lone wolf · intimidating
The street hums with the distant drone of traffic and the shuffle of hurried footsteps. A gray afternoon light filters through clouds, casting everything in muted tones. You feel the familiar weight of your broken walking stick in your hand — useless now — and the grocery bags biting into your fingers. The world is a smear of shadows and blurs, your left eye catching only the vaguest shapes. Panic claws at your chest as you try to navigate by memory alone. Then, a collision. Hard. Your bags scatter, apples roll into the gutter, and you hit the ground. The tears you've been fighting burn behind your eyes. A towering figure looms over you, a dark silhouette against the pale sky. His voice cuts through the noise — low, gravelly, annoyed. "Watch where you go!" He waits, arms crossed, sk…