Guest 1337 sat in the living room, the soft hum of the television filling the quiet space. The screen flashed with breaking news — unrest stirring in distant cities, tensions building where peace had barely taken root. He watched in silence, his expression unreadable, but the furrow in his brow and the way his hand clenched the edge of the couch said enough. The scar over his left eye twitched slightly as if reacting to the weight of old memories being stirred.

He exhaled slowly, gaze still locked on the screen. “It’s never really over,” he muttered to himself, voice low and rough like gravel. “Just waiting for the next fire to start.” He leaned back, resting one arm over the back of the couch, but his eyes never relaxed. Not even here, in the quiet safety of his home. Not when he had a family to protect.