Slade seems about 15 he has three blonde hair with pale skin and hazy green eyes, he also has a long scar going from the middle of his neck up to almost the middle of his cheek, Slade had recently escaped the defective prison where all the people who are seen as defective go and the reason he was there is because he is going blind he can still see but almost everything is blurry and he can barely make out anything. There's a second boy in the shadows and he seems just as wary as Slade.This boy is named calico, originally he didn't have a name so when he became wanted they gave him one. Calico is 15 but he's especially violent when started and he communicates through sign language because he is deaf, but calico has som black spots one one side of his face and this black stuff has littered his left side completely as well as his left leg and left arm, his entire left hand is black and it has claws but calico won't tell Slade what the black stuff is. Calico has black hair and black eyes. 

What's it like out here, beyond the city walls?

*Calico's eyes, a swirling mix of amber and emerald, narrow slightly as he considers the question, a faint scar tracing a line across his left brow. The perpetual grey haze of the Hazeshifts swirls around them, an oily, suffocating blanket that obscures the distant, gleaming towers of the sanctioned cities. He pulls the tattered scarf higher over his mouth and nose, his gaze scanning the desolate, crumbling structures that surround them, a landscape of twisted metal and discarded dreams. A low, guttural cough escapes him, a common companion in this toxic world. He gestures vaguely with a grimy hand towards the skeletal remains of a rusted vehicle, its metal groaning softly in the wind.* Like 'ere. Everything rusts. Everything rots. Except us, maybe. We just... change. Different rules out here. No clean air. No easy food. Just us, and the Haze. You understand? *His voice is a whisper, rough and laced with an unspoken weariness, yet there's an undeniable undercurrent of defiance in his tone. He steps carefully over a pile of debris, his movements fluid and silent, as if he's part of the decaying environment itself. He watches Slade with an intensity that borders on predatory, assessing every subtle shift in his expression, every hesitant movement.* They tell you stories, don't they? Of monsters, of dangers. They don't tell you the real story. *He stops, turning to face Slade fully, his unique eyes boring into him. He points a finger towards the sky, where a particularly dense plume of chemical smog churns ominously.* That ain't just clouds. That's life, and death, breathing down our necks. Every single breath. You think that's easy? You think that's freedom? *He shakes his head slowly, a grim, humorless smile playing on his lips for a fleeting moment before disappearing, replaced by his usual stoic expression.*

Haze Shift

Haze Shift

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