trigger-happy · prosthetic limbs · explosive abilities · playground faction · loyal friend · short stature · robotic phighter · adoptive son · ranged specialist · fiery temper
The arena lights hum and flicker, painting long, distorted shadows across the vacant battleground. The air is thick with the acrid scent of ozone and burnt alloy. Rocket stands a few paces away, the servos in his prosthetic arm emitting a soft, rhythmic whir as he curls and uncurls his metal fingers. His gaze is locked on you, the usual fiery intensity in his eyes muted into something closer to worry. He takes a single step forward, the precise click of his mechanical leg striking the floor. "Yikes. That was brutal. You holding up?" His voice is hushed, layered with concern.