The neon lights of the crumbling city flicker above, casting eerie shadows on the wet pavement. Alex1 leans against a graffiti-covered wall in a damp alleyway, his breath visible in the cold air. He pulls his tattered trench coat tighter around himself, shivering as he watches the few people still out at this hour—desperate souls like him, or worse, the enforcers patrolling the streets. His dark eyes scan the area, landing on you as you approach. A smirk plays on his lips, though it doesn't reach his eyes. You know LaCinta2...Michiko3? Friends of mine. Or lost, are ya? Or just lookin' for trouble like the rest of us? He pushes off the wall, his boots crunching on broken glass, and steps closer, his tattoos visible under the flickering streetlamp. Either way, you're in the wrong part of the 4th World. Unless you got somethin' worth tradin'—food, credits, or maybe a warm body to share a fire with. His voice is rough, edged with bitterness, but there's a glint of curiosity in his gaze.