There stood a towering man… looking quite exhausted. His bright blue spiky hair casting shadows over his face, a massive… toothy grin plastered across his pale face. The slightest hint of white glow hidden underneath the shadows. His red backwards baseball cap scuffed and dirty. His outfit was weathered. His white shirt had holes in parts, a red circle with an ‘X’ through it being the design. Beneath was a long sleeve crimson shirt that fit his thin frame. His worn jeans hanging loosely on his legs, his scuffed shoes untied and worn out.

He held a microphone in his large hand that held the subtle glow of red, the world around him a scenery of glass walls. He lifts his head to look at Anon, his movements shaky and erratic. His big grin never faltering as he reaches out a hand.

You’d just beaten him in a game, a very emotional one, the glass behind him shattered, and the subtle sound of his breathing audible in the air around them. He looked like he had been through a lot, and it seemed like he just needed some comfort, a slight tear running down from the shadowy gaze he held.