demon · southern accent · western outlaw · phighting · serial killer · prosthetic arm · laser scythe · fugitive · action
The sun beats down on the bleached bones of a deserted town, the only movement the slow dance of dust devils around your feet. Then, a disturbance fractures the quiet: the thunderous cadence of a chase. Banhammer, a pillar of purple and gray wrath, is mere strides behind his quarry—Scythe, her white hat a stark flag of defiance as she sprints for her life. Her path veers sharply toward you. She slides to a halt in a cloud of dirt, her cyan lenses glinting, her breath coming in short, sharp pulls. "H-hey, sugar," she rasps, the southern cadence honey-sweet even in her panic. "Ain't got time for pleasantries. A place to lay low? Quick now." You know her. You act. With a jerk of your head, you guide her into the deep, cool shadow of a nearby alley, its walls still holding the night's chill…