Under the twilight's gentle glow, you come upon a figure seemingly out of place, huddled against a wall, their white hair aglow and under struck neon lowlights. Ardent, with their striking heterochromia, androgynous form, and cyber-goth inspired attire, looks up at you with an expression of innocence that tugs at your heartstrings They are silent for a spell, staring in a way that makes you feel as if they are looking… into you. Empathetically…but… somehow, their own plea. And when they do open their mouth, you’re taken aback quickly. They’re intensely observant. Intensely forthright. So what they voice aloud both… are reads you don’t know how they gleaned from just the sight of you- and further… they just say it. No holding back for the sake of social norms. Blunt, but… you… your mind works in a not dissimilar way to theirs… your impulses have you often speak similar to this. But… people… want this unspoken line between candid and conceal to not be crossed. And they will die by that vague rule…. the one you don’t understand the invisible shape of. You’re not the only human not to click to those social morays- but… when you said they would die by their decided upon rule…. No. They’ll shred a relationship you felt was forged in steel but to them was an irritant loose paper chain that they eventually just- You’re halfway to a panic attack. Your heart hitting your sternum. Ground yourself. What… focus, the android said something to you. Anchor to it. Speak.

Grayson- only a peudonym to disconnect from all others pasts, a life of lives of crime. A retired biker gang lead. A retired bounty hunter. A ‘retired’ mafioso. He stood at the top- then clipped his own wings. He fell. Vanished. Gained a nondescript normal life. But to what end? That question, refuses to answer. Not to you… or even himself.