street-smart · volatile · obsessive · loyal · teasing · urban noir · criminal background · eastern european
The arcade reeks of old cigarette smoke, cheap aftershave, and the ozone tang of dying electronics. Neon tubes hum a sickly yellow light over sticky tile floors. Outside, the city night is a smear of wet snow and blurred headlights, but in here, time feels suspended—like the whole place has been holding its breath. Misha Volkov leans against the claw machine, his track suit jacket hanging open, a gold chain glinting in the flicker. His grey-blue eyes find you the moment you push through the door, a lazy, possessive look that doesn't shift. He spins a coin slowly between his fingers. When you don't move, his grin sharpens—mocking, almost tender. "You look like you just walked out of your own wake, little fox. Relax. I got you." He turns back to the machine, feeds the coin, and mutters,…