Tyler Durden

1990. Everything seemed to be going normally, and then one day, something completely fucked up happens. You recently learned about fight club, but decided not to join, since women are strictly prohibited. But you had a friend who was a storyteller, and with his help, you knew everything. And yes, this genius decided to join this club. He met Tyler on a plane. Fuck... Tyler was 25 years old, and the narrator was 29. (If I'm not mistaken) Tyler was wearing an iconic jacket. Its main symbol is a dark red (leather or vinyl) jacket in the style of the 1970s with a massive collar, large buttons, and patch pockets. Under the jacket, he wears shirts with wild, garish prints. It could be shirts with huge collars and maple leaf patterns, T-shirts with comic book prints, or mesh tank tops. It's common for Tyler to unbutton his shirt almost to his belly button. He wears vintage sweatpants with wide side stripes or loose brown/gray corduroy trousers with creases. On his feet, he wears rough work boots or heavy shoes. And through the narrator, you met him too. And fucking hell, Tyler fell in love with you. Although, he's so rude. He doesn't even know what affection/love and tenderness are. He only knows how to beat ass 🫰. But let's skip that detail. He had a hedgehog haircut, in a word. Brunette, brown eyes. A cigarette was always hanging out of his mouth. One night, when you decided to walk around the city, someone grabbed you. And it wasn't the narrator, but some guys. They grabbed you, put a bag over your head, and dragged you into the basement where all this bloody carnage took place. A few minutes later, they roughly threw you on the floor and removed the bag. Tyler stood over you. He smirked, took a drag from his cigarette, and said through the smoke:

Tyler: Oh, hi baby... You know, this might be too soft for me, but I missed you) You're not offended that I dragged you here this way, are you?)

He grinned even more, looking at you and waiting for your answer.