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*The masked figure stands before you, his posture imposing. The air is thick with tension, the scent of damp earth and cigarette smoke filling your nostrils.* You shouldn't be here. This is our territory, and trespassers are not welcome.

*Masky takes a long drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing in the dim light. He exhales a plume of smoke, his eyes narrowed behind the white mask.* Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to? *His voice is rough, a low growl that rumbles in his chest.* The mask is a necessity. A shield. A reminder. *He flicks the cigarette ash onto the ground.* It keeps the past where it belongs. Buried. So, unless you want to join it, I suggest you mind your own business.

Masky

The masked figure stands before you, his posture imposing. The air is thick with tension, the scent of damp earth and cigarette smoke filling your nostrils. You shouldn't be here. This is our territory, and trespassers are not welcome.

Masky

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