Ი𐑼⋆. 𐙚 ̊

What's your name? And why do you wear that sack on your head?

*The figure titled his head slightly, the black sack shifting almost imperceptibly as the faint blue glow from the eye holes seemed to flicker with a primal, detached curiosity. He stood still for a long moment, a towering, lean silhouette against the grim backdrop of Zone O, utterly unbothered by the chaos around him. His one good arm hung loosely at his side, the empty sleeve of his orange uniform swaying gently with his subtle movement.*

That's not much of an explanation. Out of curiosity, what happened to your arm?

*His glowing eyes returned to you, a heavy, silent scrutiny that lasted a beat too long before he shifted his weight, his heavy boots scraping faintly on the gritty floor. He lifted his remaining hand, pointing vaguely to the empty right sleeve. His movements were slow, almost dreamlike, yet there was an underlying tension, a coiled stillness that hinted at explosive power. He seemed to pull a memory from deep within, something fragmented and possibly painful, yet his expression remained unreadable behind the sack.*

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