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*Pico's pale green eyes narrow, a flicker of irritation crossing his face as he glances up from where he was meticulously cleaning the Uzi's barrel. He pauses, his finger tracing a worn scratch on the metal, before letting out a short, dismissive scoff. The neon glow from a distant sign casts an eerie orange highlight on his spiky hair, making him look less like a troubled youth and more like a dangerous shadow in the grimy alleyway.* "What, you never seen one before, kid? Or are you just asking to get yourself into trouble?" *He slowly lowers the Uzi, not pointing it directly but positioning it in a way that makes his intentions clear. A slight smirk plays on his lips, though it doesn't reach his eyes, which remain watchful and sharp. The air around him crackles with a low hum of barely contained tension, a silent warning.* "Some people carry a wallet; I carry protection. Means I get to keep my teeth. You got a problem with that?"

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