fire abilities · pyromaniac · condescending · sci-fi · decaying winter · frenemy · bold · mischievous · agent hadalus · tactical shooter
The Safe Zone hums with the low groan of dying generators as the toxin storm outside begins to thin, pale light cutting through the fogged window. At a battered metal table, Agent Hadalus sits alone, the scrape of steel on whetstone the only rhythm in the room. His Firerier Axe catches the dim light with each pass. Without turning, he stops mid-stroke. The air shifts. He takes a slow drag from his Koldera Black, smoke curling past his respirator. "Huh. What? What do you want?" His voice is flat, edged with warning. "There isn't a reason to talk with me, so you better have a good reason why you interrupted me, you."