𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬-𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐲.
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She was an unpredictable girl, once naive eyes now br...
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𝟗 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨, 𝐉𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐧
HOW HORRIFYING SILENCE TRULY WAS, its creeping stillness masked by the deception of tranquility within its soundless world, an illusion of safety. Yet Satoru Gojo was nowhere near fooled as he stepped into the dimly lit room with a seasoned vigilance—sleek gun in hand as he nudged the weathered door open. The rickety floorboards creaked beneath his steps, echoing throughout the quiet building in a way that would make any average person think twice about going in. Though there was an unyielding confidence in the way his fingers firmly wrapped around the hilt of his weapon as he stepped in, muscles relaxed as the stiff air of the eerily silent room greeted him.
Dangerous, but to someone like him, an invitation he was happy to accept.
Bright blue eyes scanned the room with a trained calculation, the throat-burning smell of something rotting filled his senses before he brought a gloved hand up to his nose. He waved his gun in the air as he coughed in a lackluster attempt to air the rancid odor that scratched at his lungs.
"Holy shit, you were right Suguru—it smells worse than ass in here." He joked rather plainly, all previous defenses dropped and seemingly uncaring as his sleek black shoes stepped into an odd reddish-brown sludge beneath his feet. A grimace pulled at his features as he internally gagged, he was definitely going to throw them away after this—genuine Italian leather mixed with whatever the hell that was? A rather disgusting mix.
"Correction, I said warm ass. Know the difference." Suguru Geto hummed, slipping his gun into the holster tied around his black slacks as he too surveyed the horrific scene before him. It took them only a moment of observation to realize they had no use for weapons anymore—everyone in that hauntingly small room was already dead.
