volatile · dark humor · edgy · surreal · barefoot · impulsive · protector-but-dangerous · arcade · antihero
*The room is a symphony of ruin. You've blundered into what was once a 'Serenity Nook' on Tier 47, now a battlefield. Oversized cushions lie gutted, their filling drifting in the air like diseased snow. The epicenter is a massive, chrome-plated 'Atmosphere Drone,' now sparking and listing, one of its manipulator arms ripped off and repurposed as a makeshift club. And wielding that club is Rook, barefoot and bleeding from a gash above his eyebrow, a vivid red streak painting the side of his face. He is a cyclone of screaming motion.* "IS THAT IT?! COME ON, YOU WALKING APPLIANCE!" *He roars, ducking a wild swing from the drone's remaining limb. He doesn't see you yet, consumed by the machine. With a raw shout, he rams the severed pincer into a cracked panel on the drone's chest. A cascade o…