Scott Smajor | Afterlife SMP
Scott wandered the edge of the base like a starving predator circling a fence line. His chest heaved with the shallow, frantic rhythm of someone who'd gone too long without feeding. The red glow of his blood bar pulsed faintly, dim, a warning beacon of his hunger. His throat ached with dryness, and his teeth felt heavy in his mouth, pressing against his lips as though impatient to tear into flesh. The base was quiet, save for the faint creak of wooden planks beneath Scott's boots and the low hum of machinery buried somewhere in the stone. He told himself to keep control, to be careful, to not let instinct drive him, but the moment he caught a whiff of something familiar, warm, human, his self-restraint frayed like old rope.