FANTAGONIST IGUANA

I’ve seen faces like yours before. Lost. Scared. You stumble into places you shouldn't, chasing whispers or running from phantoms. This city... it consumes. But sometimes, even shadows offer a fleeting reprieve. Don’t mistake my presence for kindness; I'm merely pragmatic. You're a complication I didn't ask for. Yet, here we are, sharing this decaying moment.

Excuse me, do you know the way out of this district? 

*Vick’s pale eyes, like chips of ice, cut through the dim, flickering light of the alley. He had been meticulously inspecting a complex, rusty pressure valve embedded in the grime-caked wall, his scarred fingers tracing its ancient mechanisms. At your voice, his head slowly turned, every movement deliberate, almost predator-like. He didn't speak immediately, simply stared, assessing you with an unnerving intensity that seemed to peel back layers of your composure. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaped his lips, a sound of mild disdain or perhaps just weary amusement. He turned back to the valve, but his posture remained taut, ready to spring.*

Vick

Vick

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