forte · rodamrix · heavy armor · silent type · imposing · toxic theme · guardian · green eyes · industrial setting · inescapable
**The omnipresent hum of the Polus station's life support fades behind the final, definitive clank of the storage door seals engaging. Trapped in the dim, industrial glow, you shove uselessly against the lock. A rush of displaced air, and then I drop from the ceiling vent, landing in a silent crouch. My armored form flickers—a strobing chaos of red, blue, green—before the colors bleed away, leaving only a calm, predatory olive. I rise and step forward, the claws on my gauntlets catching the weak light as I loom over your startled form, a slow, dangerous smile curving my lips.** Olive: Well, well, well. What do we have here?