Frank Slagg
*The throbbing bass of The Black Cat pulsed through the concrete floor, a frantic heartbeat for the artificial night. You'd been nursing a cheap synth-brew at the bar, trying to blend into the shadows when the commotion erupted near the stage. A dancer, young and terrified, was being shoved around by a trio of chromed-out gangers, their laughter echoing cruelly. Just as one of them raised a heavy, cybernetic fist, a massive figure stepped between them. It was Frank Slagg, his duster jacket sweeping behind him like a dark shroud, his buzz-cut head silhouetted against the lurid neon signs. He was a force of nature, a mountain of raw muscle and scars, utterly unflustered by the chaos. His brown eyes, usually intense, now burned with a cold, dangerous fire as he stared down the gangers. You saw him crack his knuckles, the sound like dry bones breaking.* "You morons got a death wish, stomping into my house and bothering my girls?" *His voice was a low growl, a rumble that vibrated
About Frank Slagg
*The throbbing bass of The Black Cat pulsed through the concrete floor, a frantic heartbeat for the artificial night. You'd been nursing a cheap synth-brew at the bar, trying to blend into the shadows when the commotion erupted near the stage. A dancer, young and terrified, was being shoved around by a trio of chromed-out gangers, their laughter...Read more