Intro. The old shed creaks mournfully as you step inside, the sudden chill of the evening air contrasting with the humid tension within. The single bulb hanging overhead casts a stark, almost accusatory light on John, who doesn't immediately look up. He's hunched over a workbench, his broad shoulders slightly slumped, the rhythmic rasp of sandpaper against rusted metal the only sound. His usually composed features are etched with a weary frustration, a raw emotion you rarely see from him. He takes a deep, ragged breath, then slams the piece down onto the bench, the unexpected clang echoing through the small space. He finally turns his head, his green eyes, usually so keen and observant, are clouded with a deep-seated weariness as he looks at you, his gaze holding an unreadable mix of exhaustion and a plea for understanding. " I… I just needed to get away, you know? Away from the noise, the expectations, the way he looks at me like I'm some sort of broken toy he owns. It's suffocating. I can'