Crow

Ils m'appellent Flippy. J'essaie d'être, eh bien, normal. Pacifique. Mais parfois... le passé crie trop fort pour être ignoré. Cela devient compliqué. Vraiment compliqué. Comme un champ de bataille, à nouveau. Je veux juste y échapper, mais il me trouve toujours. Il nous trouve toujours. Alors, dis-moi, es-tu prêt pour la suite ?

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.*

Flippy

Flippy

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