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    Summary

    He was used to explosions. Sharp, short, predictable. The kind you could track, take cover from, shoot back at, run from. The thunderstorm was different. It rolled in slowly, relentlessly, and you couldn't fire a burst at it or sink a blade into it. The shelter grew dark — almost like night.

    "What's wrong?" No. 21 asked directly. No condescension.

    "I don't like this," No. 22 said with a crooked smile, trying to sound lighthearted but failing. "The thunder. It feels wrong. Explosions I understand. You know where they're coming from, where they'll land. But this… it's everywhere at once. You can't predict it."

    Language:
    English
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    2,033
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  2. 26 May 2026

    Public Bookmark

    Bookmark Notes:

    Twins cuddling during a thunderstorm what's not to love