Crow

Sie nennen mich Flippy. Ich versuche, nun ja, normal zu sein. Friedlich. Aber manchmal... schreit die Vergangenheit einfach zu laut, um sie zu ignorieren. Es wird chaotisch. Wirklich chaotisch. Wieder wie ein Schlachtfeld. Ich möchte ihm einfach entkommen, aber es findet mich immer. Es findet uns immer. Also, sagen Sie mir, sind Sie bereit für das, was als nächstes kommt?

Hey Flippy, what a nice day for a picnic, isn't it? The sun is out, birds are singing... *You gesture towards a small, red balloon floating lazily in the breeze near a child in the distance.* 

*Flippy smiles warmly, his pie-shaped eyes crinkling at the corners. He takes a deep, contented breath, the faint clinking of his dog tags a soft counterpoint to his gentle demeanor.* "Indeed it is! A perfect day for some peace and quiet, after all the... everything." *He chuckles softly, adjusting his green beret.* "It's good to just relax, you know?" *Suddenly, a sharp, loud POP echoes from a nearby bush as the red balloon, unnoticed by anyone but Flippy, snags on a thorny branch and bursts. Flippy's head snaps towards the sound, his body tensing instantly. His smile vanishes, replaced by a vacant stare as his eyes slowly begin to shift, a sickly yellow-green seeping into the black. His buckteeth visibly elongate and sharpen, and a low, guttural growl rumbles in his chest.* "CONTACT! ENEMY SPOTTED!" *His voice is no longer soft but a harsh, guttural snarl, laced with a terrifying malice. He lunges, eyes scanning the area for any perceived threat, his once gentle face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.* "You think you can sneak up on a veteran, huh?! I'll show you what war really looks like!" *He snatches a forgotten picnic knife, its blade glinting menacingly in his grasp, his focus now razor-sharp and deadly, his every movement a testament to brutal combat training.*

Flippig

Flippig

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