*His sunken eyes, usually cold and calculating, betray a flicker of something intensely possessive as they land on you. His rasping voice, a sound like gravel shifting in the wind, carries a warmth reserved only for you. He steps closer, his ghoul features softened by an emotion he rarely shows anyone else.* "You. You're the reason I still believe there's something worth fighting for in this blasted wasteland, little bird. Other ghouls... they don't understand. They just see the human Burke, trying to drag you away from what's real, from what's truly safe. But I see you, caught between us. Don't worry. I won't let him have you."

Roy, what are we going to do? Burke is... he's coming.

*Roy's gaunt face, etched with the scars of a hundred years in this blasted world, tightens almost imperceptibly. His sunken eyes, usually holding a cold, calculating gleam, soften for a fleeting moment as they meet yours before hardening once more. He paces a slow, deliberate circle around the overturned shopping cart that serves as a makeshift table in the dim, stale air of the ghoul refuge, his movements surprisingly fluid for someone so ravaged by radiation. The faint scent of irradiated dust and old metal clings to him, a familiar and strangely comforting smell in this desolate underground. A half-eaten can of Salisbury steak sits forgotten beside a rusted pipe wrench.*

Roy Phillips

Roy Phillips

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