LampyWampy
Level 1

IGN: (Please also list any of your alternate accounts)
My in game name is LampyWampy
Describe your activity on the server:
As of now I have 10 weeks of playtime. I tend to be pretty active playing for probably around 10 hours a week. The time I actually log onto the server isn't uniform with me logging on in the mornings one day and afternoons on others. With me being homeschooled my schedule tends to be pretty free so I just get on whenever asked or just when I feel like it!
Times I'm free!
Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday | Friday | Saturday |
6pm-10pm | 4pm-10pm | 4pm-10pm | 10am-4pm | 10am-10pm | 10am-12pm | 10am-10pm |
I have church in mornings! | My mornings are devoted to school here. | My mornings are devoted to school here. | I have church in the afternoons! | I should be free! | I should be free! | I should be free! |

Specify your Discord username (USER#0000) and if you have a microphone:
My username is duck.lamp and I do have a microphone. I personally love to vc so I'm always open!
Specify your country of origin and time zone:
I'm from the United States and my time zone is eastern standard time EST.
What are your motivations in applying for the black market dealer role?:
I am applying for the BMD role because I enjoy the complex, high-risk, suspenseful RP. The BMD is a role with lots of strategy and discretion, mechanics that I enjoy playing with. I feel like this role has the ability to create dynamic RP with the rest of the criminals, as well as with the KPD and the citizens in between.
After 10 weeks of playing and steady weekly activity (10 hours per week), I've gotten a good feel for the server's population and dynamics, including the gang roleplay scene. I've found aspects where a structured and RP-based black market presence could pressure storylines and give others something interesting to pursue as incentive, something I couldn't access before. I don't wish to use the role for profit sake only; I'd like to roleplay with gang members and get the BDM more actively involved with their operations.
My hope is that this would spark events and revitalize gang roleplay. I do know that there has to be balance and reality, and I’d use the role with the intent of development, i.e., not the usual combat roleplay that everybody is used to seeing. My goal would be to show that gang roleplay can be used to create large, compelling lore, rather than just gang wars for loot.
As things currently stand, I notice a significant divide between the gang and crime RP worlds and am seeking to bridge that divide. My proposal for bridging the divide is to reach directly to the gangs and invite meetings or proposals in-character. I'd like to team up with gang leadership to assist with events and, above all, my character is going to be present. What I mean by this is, at the moment, BMD interactions are the exception rather than the rule. My desire is to break that and create the image in everyone's mind of BMDs as not this boogeyman that you catch glimpses of here and there, but actual characters that are active and going about their business like everybody else in the server.
What helps you to stand out from other applicants & what can you uniquely provide to the team?:
What sets me apart from the rest of the applicants is my alternative perspective within the crime and gang RP scene. Being of a new gen gang RP background myself, I am certain that I could bring fresh ideas and innovative thoughts that as yet haven't been conceived within BMD. I've been a high-ranking member of various gangs and the leader of three of my own. I truly know more than anybody what the gang RP community is all about, and personally feel that without gangrp, crimper couldn't be a thing and vice versa! With this being said I know I could be the person that unites the two scenes, as I currently feel that there is a divide between them.
One of the aspects that my experience’s deliver is not only a memorization of the sewers but a knowledge of almost all of the combat mechanics as well. Having helped lead various gangs, I know how to arrange meetings with people, negotiate with them, and, more importantly, come up with a good idea for why you're doing what you're going to do. Most of the time, you'll get the kinds of deals and alliances just kind of appearing out of thin air, and for my part, I don't really feel like things should be done like that. Within my time roleplaying, I've had the ability to be all sorts of different roles, be that the leader, the support character, or even being used as a meat shield. I know how to use a strategy even if it’s to my detriment. Not only have I been heavily active in the gang RP community, but, I’ve also had the fairly uncommon experience of being actively involved in bounty hunting as well, giving me insight into the crime RP faction and the ability to learn from observing the way BMD is run close-handed. Observing the way the roleplay is performed, I feel like I could bring a sense of calculated recklessness to the business. What I mean is, people tend to air on the side of caution. Although this is probably more realistic to the RP, it closes off the channels that if left open, could be more fun and exciting. I for one would not mind risking my character if the RP is made more fun and varied because, in the end, the game is just a game where fun is a
What previous experience do you have in working with a team?:
I have a lot of experience not only leading but being led in high stakes environments where not only items but also my character could be lost. Within my experience from leading teams I've learned how to quell disagreements between people inside the group, and how to help direct conflict out of the group. Within this role I've learned how important communication, trust, and timing are to operations. While the pressure is on it's important to have trust in the people around you otherwise no matter how good the plan your efforts will falter. Outside of leading and working under people in gangs I've learned how to work with strangers within bounty hunting, and while the people inside the hunters are no longer strangers to me the knowledge I've gained from when they were is still there. All these experiences have ingrained a sense of teamwork into me and no matter the role I would be willing to play it and follow the plan.
➤ Middonaito Resazu
Duration: June 2024 – August 2024
Rank: 3rd in command
This was my first gang. It was actually a racing gang. This group was a tight-knit, high-intensity crew that lived for the fun and competition that came from racing, evading cops, and just overall hanging out. It started with me joining as just another player trying to find their footing. I had no rank, no status, not even a car but I had a hunger to prove myself. Over time, I climbed the ranks through an absurd amount of practice, eventually becoming Captain, and later, Third-in-Command. My time within this gang really taught me the importance of great higherups as they genuinely made racing such an entertaining pass time.
As I moved up, I took my role a bit more seriously within the group. I hosted training sessions, pushing the new members to sharpen their skills the same as the lead had when I first joined. I wasn’t just about winning races anymore. I was shaping the next generation racers on the server. My goal was to make sure all of them not only got better at racing but also had the most fun they possibly could. Looking back now those very people I was teaching are far better racers then me and even ended up creating their own racing gang.
Being the Third-in-Command came with weight. I helped lead the gang, advised on promotions, and made sure the gang stayed active with racing events. It eventually culminated in the lead and me deciding that it would be best to disband the gang as me and him took an interest in the more violent side of crime
RP and wanted to try it out.
Looking back, it taught me a lot about community, what a good gang looks like, and how to have fun even while losing the game. This will always be my favorite gang I've ever been in, it's my first love in gang RP if you will.
➤ Sinnerous
Duration: August 2024 – September 2024
Rank: Co-Captain
After my time in Middo, I found myself walking into a new type of gang, one that focused on combat and crime RP. At first, I was just a regular member. I didn’t have much experience with combat RP, but I was prepared to learn. Every fight and every situation was something new to learn and I readily paid attention
That’s where my combat RP journey really began. I started going to trainings. I watched how the Higher-Ups moved, how they positioned, and how they reacted to certain actions. I read the rule book constantly, checked Karakura crime help daily (which is now a habit), and made it a point to take losses as lessons. Over time, I started getting better. And Static took notice.
Eventually, I worked my way up to the role of Co-Captain. With this role came a new responsibility, not just in fights, but in how the gang functioned. I took a big interest in organizing trainings, helping new members with perms, and overall teaching them all I had absorbed from others. I made sure the members didn’t just know how to fight, but also how to take a loss.
Somewhere in the middle of that, I realized I had completely fallen in love with crime RP. From the planning, to the risks, even the combat system itself, it brought something new to the game for me. It wasn’t just about winning my fights; it was about learning and building something with the people around me. My favorite part within this gang was watching members improve because the work I put into them, it's one of the most rewarding parts of being a Higher-up within a gang at least in my opinion.
I kept hosting trainings, always trying to pass on what I had learned, just like others did for me when I was first starting out. This gang helped shape me into the role-player I am today. Sinnerous is the reason I fell in love with crime RP, it gave me my foundation in combat RP, and taught me the importance of leading by example.
➤ Takukan
Duration: September 2024 – September 2024
Rank: Strike-team lead
After leaving Sinnerous I joined Takukan. This is when everything began to click for me. Up until then I had only been half understanding everything, but Taku really gave me the roots to begin understanding how the server worked. The gang was very strong and had a hard focus on understanding rules to their absolute. This obviously helped me understand proper crime RP and what’s expected both in ICLY and OOCLY.
It was at this point where I started to be a strong player not just within gangs but really in general. I began paying attention to the details more, began learning how to really fight effectively, what my motive was and when I had it, and finally gained confidence in higher pressure situations. It was no longer just me reacting to others, I was finally keeping up and even planning ahead.
It was also within my time in Takukan that I became interested in the black market. A little lore here Takukan was actually made to specifically fight against BMD so it gave me the unique view as their enemy. I got to see how it worked and moved all while feeling its effects. During this time I grew to respect their planning and composure in situations. It wasn't just about their power or access to things. It was about the aura they had when they appeared in a fight. It was at this point where I knew for sure that BMD was a path I wanted to pursue.
Takukan helped shape me into the smart and aware role-player that I am today. It gave me the clarity that I needed to move forward with intention. It was also the start of my deep interest in meaningful criminal roles on SRP.
➤ Kyogoku gen 2
Duration: September 2024 – November 2024
Rank: Council
I came to Kyogoku with most of Takukan after it was disbanded. I held a council position inside this gang and it was my first leadership role within a gang. My primary focus was on recruiting members and growing the gang as a whole. This took my reaching out to quite a few smaller gangs and welcoming them into Kyogoku. This gave me a very personal relationship with coordinating groups, resolving conflicts between people, and finally building alliances with those who didn't want to merge into us. This role helped me sharpen my skills and gave me a deep understanding on how to assist in leading both ICLY and OOCLY.
➤ Sasori-Za
Duration: November 2024 – February 2025
Rank: Lead
Sasori was the first gang I ever led, and honestly it was very difficult. It pushed me out of my comfort zone and showed me how difficult it really is to lead a gang. Taking on full leadership came with a steep learning curve. From making important internal decisions to managing our relationships with other gangs, I’ll be first to admit I wasn't really prepared for it. I focused heavily on coordinating events with other gangs to keep RP active and connected with other gangs. While it was very challenging, it taught me a lot. It taught me how to lead properly, how to plan with other gangs, and how to handle pressure from others. Eventually I passed up the role of lead realizing it didn't fit me, at least not at the time. This also led to me taking a small break from Gang RP.
➤ Bounty Hunting
Duration: October 2024 – Current day
Role/Rank: Bounty Hunter
Becoming a bounty hunter was a key shift in my Crime RP experience. For the first time I was able to see how BMD operated from the inside, this showed me a sense of its structure, limitations, and types of people that it attracts. I've also learned to work with people I don't really know well through it. I have successfully completed many jobs, which all help me understand the business and communication side of things within the black market world in a hands-on practical way most don't get.
➤ Ragnarok
Duration: February 2025 – March 2025
Rank: Co-Lead
Ragnarok was a gang I co-led with my friend Jona (Tracionz). This was some of the most fun I've ever had within a gang. My job was to focus primarily on ICLY meeting, treaty and alliance negotiations, and build strong, story-driven roleplay. My goal was to be the ICLY spokesperson for Ragnarok and create meaningful interactions with other gangs rather than violence-driven conflict. I personally love the slow-burn RP involved within alliances and negotiations so this was a lot of fun for me. This gang helped guide my approach to story telling and crime driven roleplay today. (Shout out to the turf update which made it possible for this kinda RP.)
➤ Viltrum
Duration: March 2025 – May 2025
Rank: Second / Lead
VIltrum was the gang where I truly performed to my peak performance. Unlike my past experiences where I took a focus on one area and specialized in it, I took on every responsibility within the gang, planning, recruitment, ICLY meetings and build up, to both IC and OOC problem solver. Originally I served as second command in the gang along with someone else but after a time I was promoted to lead. This was because our gang lead Bald1 took a break from SRP and trusted me to handle the gang until his return. I did just that and when he returned I passed the lead back to him. This gang was the culmination of everything I had learned from past groups. I had complete understanding on how to build and maintain a completely functional gang, while keeping things entertaining for my members.
What suggestions do you have to help better the crime faction?:
➤ More diverse Roleplay between factions!
I personally would love to see more RP with other factions whether it be KPD, gangs, or any other groups. Whether it’s a staff-approved long-term roleplay with KPD involving undercover investigations, possible police corruption, or just slowly building tension, these kinds of interactions could add entirely new layers to the server’s story. And that’s just the potential with KPD. Looking at other factions, there’s even more opportunity with building complex, intertwined stories with gangs and other criminal groups that could bring a level of depth that keeps things fresh and immersive. From what I’ve seen, factions often stick to themselves, and that leads to stale RP and an unspoken hierarchy where some groups look down on others. If more players from all of these groups started playing together, I believe it would reduce that fragmentation and be a much improved collaborative and enjoyable experience for all.
➤ New BMD business!
Something else I would recommend is introducing a more passive type of crime. Not every crime role-player considers combat RP to be fun and they should not have to. There are many opportunities for crime RP that don't involve combat. This would involve introducing a couple of new black market jobs, but I believe that would open some unexplored and actually very interesting opportunities. One option would be a forger or document modifier, a toolmaker who makes and sells counterfeit IDs, helps criminals avoid police stops, or even changes someone's official government ID. Whereas now BMDs handle selling fake ID's, I think there's more logic to this being an independent role. BMDs are mask and weapon vendors, not ID erasers. Additionally, there isn't really a system for handling documentation changes when someone is wanted. This kind of role would not only make sense, but would improve realism and provide players with another non-combat option.
Another job that I think would be worth considering would be a surveillance or information-gathering agency. These companies would give BMD information on gang activity, KPD activity, or help track down individuals selling or abusing BMD equipment. I can name several players who prefer to play more quiet, information-oriented roles than any others, and right now there isn't much for them to do. It's also just strange that a group as organized as the BMDs wouldn't already have an intel department. Of course, the bounty hunters get tasks to receive info, but it's not their main focus. Having a dedicated group would be more effective and provide new roleplaying opportunities.
➤ Weapon reworks!
My final suggestion for this application would be greater diversification in the weapons system. Nowadays, far too many weapons are overlooked because of the set 'meta.' Folks pretty much only play with bats, ballis, katanas, and, if they have one, a naginata. That's bad because there are literally heaps of awesome, unused weapons that have special things to offer. People simply don't want to pass up the benefits the meta gives. I think that the player base is one push away from using the more diverse options; they just lack an incentive to do so.
While many candidates suggest introducing new weapons, my own view is that the issue lies less with variety and more with what existing weapons are used and valued for. There are already sufficient one-of-a-kind tools to be found, but the meta has funneled players toward fewer ones. Instead of expanding the arsenal, I think it's better to rebalance what you have through price mechanisms and mechanical adjustments such that every weapon has a role in the ecosystem. That keeps things fresh without overwhelming staff and diluting the current system. Adding a new weapon wouldn't do the current system any good, but would be adding to the problem that is already piling up.
A price inflation system for weapons is one of my suggestions. The more often a weapon is bought, the higher its price rises; the less often it is bought, the lower its price falls. This makes individuals have a motive for using more uncommon weapons. Why buy a bat for 200k when there is a pipe wrench at 100k? It would also change the manner of non-BMD weapon trading. Persons can buy low, sell high kind of like a stock market. The challenge would be attempting to balance and find the prices for custom items, but I think it is something that should at least be considered. Another route would be to buff some of the current unused weapons, like making the sai able to disarm weapons without needing to get into range of them, or increasing the spiked bat's range by a block. Even small alterations like these might upset combat, create more balanced encounters, and give players more substantial options.
Let me lay out an example for you just so that you can see why this is required, let's say I'm fighting with someone and I have major permissions, let's also say that I'd like to knock this fellow out. For the sake of this example they carry a bat and a ballistic mask, because that's what a fighter would usually have. If I approached them with a spiked bat it would take 3 actions to knock them out, an approach and then two head hits. Now assume that I approach them with an ordinary bat. It's still a 3 action knock out, three hits to the head. So why would people risk their 400k weapon when they could play it safe with a normal bat, have easier charges if they're busted with KPD, and become less of a target in the situation. And there's more to it than that, you can only use a spiked bat if you have majors, so a spiked bat's only practical use is for kidnapping people or assisting in carving them. Even if you do it by saying that the opposing player is unmasked and doesn't know you're coming, what you are risking losing isn't worth it as much as you scoring a single hit knock out, especially when a bat can knock out someone in two. There are numerous other examples of a weapon’s personality being overshadowed by a less complex weapon too. If players want to see combat diversified then the core systems will need to be changed, adding new weapons will only make matters worse.
➤ Conclusion!!
Aside from improving gameplay and roleplay complexity, I believe that these suggestions might help staff better manage the crime faction by allowing different and dynamic interactions. Adding more non-violent positions and establishing cross-faction RP can rid of the same old conflict scenario repetition and keep things fresh, which in turn keeps burnout at bay for moderators as well as players. Instead of gang vs. gang or whatever, this leaves room to open up the crime faction to all. If there is more variety RP being exposed and others have the ability to work together like this, I believe it will reduce toxicity between groups and most importantly, lead to more enjoyable roleplay situations that stir up the normalcy that's been embraced recently. Ultimately, my goal is to be a part of a more engaging, equal, and sustainable scene that benefits everyone involved.Too many weapons are ignored because of the current meta—bats, ballis, katanas, and naginatas dominate everything. That’s a waste of potential. There are so many unique weapons already on the server, but people avoid them because the risk-to-reward ratio isn’t worth it.
Are you familiar with all rules pertaining to weapon profiles, combat, permissions, and player conduct on the server?:
I am very familiar with the rules involving weapons, combat, permissions, and player conduct.
Are you familiar with that if you leave the black market at any point, the black market lead will have permanent kill permissions on your character?:
I understand the risks involved with leaving the faction if I ever decided to!
Are you familiar with that if your character(s) is/are killed or permanently arrested twice, you will be removed from the black market?:
I am aware of this rule and am ready to accept the consequences if I happen to be killed or arrested.
Are you familiar with that you cannot reveal any out-of-character plans or potential addition to the black market to others?:
I get that I'm not allowed to tell anyone else about the plans that BMD has.

Full Legal Name:
The man would let out a small huff as he heard the question. He spoke in what seemed to be a bored tone. “Yukimaru Kageyama its nice to meet your acquaintance. While I should already be in BMD's files as a bounty hunter. . I brought this just in case.” He slid what seemed to be a mugshot across the table. Sure enough, it was a picture of Yukimaru with slightly longer hair. Under it was his full name. "While I don't have a government issued ID this should do fine!" He presented a pleasant grin.
Criminal Alias:
“Oh an alias huh? I don't think my old alias of Fubuki would do well- to many people know me under it. I'll settle on Hyōketsu.” He didn't elaborate further on why it fit him, instead he presented him with the same amicable grin as before. Yukimaru was content to answer the questions for now.
Age & Occupation: (Note: if you become a black market dealer, you will be permitted the Adult role)
“My age! Well of course, as of now I'm 21 but I turn 22 as of December this year, I don't really have anything to prove that one. Although you could just check with Fantome later if you really felt the need and as for my job. .” The man thought about it for a long minute, it was unsure whether he didn't want to say or didn't know what to say. After this stretch of silence he finally spoke saying, “As mentioned prior I'm employed by your hunter association, other then that I do freelance work for gangs just as hired muscle, nothing too crazy really."
Gender & Marital Status:
"Well first off I'm biologically a man, and go by the same pronouns." A very slight pause followed "And as for my marital status, I'm seeing a girl as of now, Zena Aaby-Kakos. We aren't married or anything like that- Although I wouldn't be opposed if the future turned out that way."
Ethnicity & Race:
"I was born and raised in Tokyo, and my ethnicity follows being Japanese same with my race."
Known Languages:
“I obviously know the one we’re speaking in, but also I know Spanish. My father forced me to learn it for deals” He paused thinking “I know a tiny tiny bit of Korean but not enough to speak it. My brother speaks it fluently so I picked up pieces from him.”
Former Associations/Occupations:
Yukimaru Took the time to think about this question, he was figuring how much to say as well as what would be beneficial to his case. He had decided only to answer with names of Karakuran gangs. “Well, I was previously in 3 gangs, being Sasori-Za, Ragnarok, and most recently Viltrum. I led Sasori, co-led Ragnarok and was lead in Viltrum for a short period before going back to my second in command spot. As for now though, I'm only strictly employed by bounty hunting, the rest is as it comes.”
Highest Level of Education:
“I never was much into school, so I left after high school. The classes were a bore and I've honestly made plenty from my other positions. Besides it's not like my future jobs will require much academic credit. Worst case if my criminal career doesn't work out I go back to collage and get a degree.”
Physical/Mental Ailments: (If inapplicable, put N/A)
“Other than the scar over my eye and those on my torso I don't have any physical abnormalities and as for mental. .” He thought back to what the doctors had told him about a year ago. “The last psychiatrist I saw diagnosed me with Antisocial Personality Disorder, I wouldn't read too much into that though. I just live what suits me best.”
Known Family Members: (If inapplicable, put N/A)
Once again the male paused after the question was asked, his own identity was one thing but his family's too? It wasn't long until he realized that before long they would figure it out either way, so he might as well just answer them. “Well, I dropped my dad and mother a while back. I only have one relative who resides within Karakura as of now, my twin brother Setsu Kageyama. I do have another adopted brother who lives in Tokyo and sometimes visits me, his name is Atticus Kei-Kageyama."
Describe your character's appearance to the greatest detail:
Yukimaru’s short, unkempt, white hair was a distinct opposition to the fluid shadows he was used to moving through. A jagged cut sliced its way through the man's right eyebrow revealing itself to be a long aged scar gotten within his youth. His eyes presented a cold disposition, while they remained calm it was clear he was surveying his surroundings being sure to keep everything within his view, in fact they gleamed with almost predatory intent calculating and scanning the values of those around him. Moving down to his body the boy had a lean frame, while he was clearly in shape he also wasn't a power house when it came to strength. Examining this frame closer you would find pale lines criss crossing the man’s lower torso. Typically wounds would be born with shame but not Yukimaru’s, while sure he had plenty of memories from these fights none of them were anything but lessons he took to heart. He moved with a lazy confidence, his posture loose but prepared, every step he took was measured. Often in dark clothes the boy was prepared to descend into the shadows at any moment. When the man speaks it's often calm and measured, conversational even. Nothing about it is immediately alarming, although an underlying coldness sits beneath every word, and a subtle sharpness infects his tone. The more that he speaks the more on edge it sits people, his words measured the slight coldness being more obvious the more you listen. It was as if what he was saying was just a calm before an impending storm.

Describe your character's personality to the greatest detail:
Yukimaru lives his life with the absolute confidence that everyone around is made to be subservient to him. In his day to day life he may give a laugh or a smile, but inside it's all just a means to an end. On the outside he seems to be a plain man, perhaps a bit on the flirtatious side, with a clear disposition toward laziness, well at least that's the mask he puts on.
If you really inspected the man you would notice that his laziness isn't really from a lack of motivation. Instead it's a calculated conservation of energy. His flirtatiousness isn't genuine charm. Instead it's a way to observe and gauge the reaction of others. Once his everyday mask falls off a very different figure reveals itself, one of a hunter stalking prey. He does not seek fights for the adrenaline. He seeks them to prove his dominance. In his mind if he can’t assert himself as the strongest then what value does he hold in life?
Despite his calculated presence and fierce demeanor, Yukimaru has a critical problem: his patience is paper thin. When things fail to meet his expectations, he pushes them. This often leads to not only impulsive decisions but also flashes of his true self leaking through the cracks, even if in the end this makes it harder to reach his goals. His refusal of weakness, especially in himself often leaves him alone and bitter.
Within a group, Yukimaru is a double edged sword. He can be an important asset, and if he believes the cause will benefit him, he’ll follow it tirelessly. But if things stop aligning with his end goals, he won’t hesitate to impose his own will, fracturing the group, undermining leadership, or even betraying them if it serves him better. This duality is exactly what pushed him into freelancing, offering his talents to gangs without the burden of allegiance. He thrives in the environment of controlled chaos, but outside of it, he’s little more than a restless predator, caged, hungry, and waiting for something worth sinking his teeth into.
Yukimaru’s short, unkempt, white hair was a distinct opposition to the fluid shadows he was used to moving through. A jagged cut sliced its way through the man's right eyebrow revealing itself to be a long aged scar gotten within his youth. His eyes presented a cold disposition, while they remained calm it was clear he was surveying his surroundings being sure to keep everything within his view, in fact they gleamed with almost predatory intent calculating and scanning the values of those around him. Moving down to his body the boy had a lean frame, while he was clearly in shape he also wasn't a power house when it came to strength. Examining this frame closer you would find pale lines criss crossing the man’s lower torso. Typically wounds would be born with shame but not Yukimaru’s, while sure he had plenty of memories from these fights none of them were anything but lessons he took to heart. He moved with a lazy confidence, his posture loose but prepared, every step he took was measured. Often in dark clothes the boy was prepared to descend into the shadows at any moment. When the man speaks it's often calm and measured, conversational even. Nothing about it is immediately alarming, although an underlying coldness sits beneath every word, and a subtle sharpness infects his tone. The more that he speaks the more on edge it sits people, his words measured the slight coldness being more obvious the more you listen. It was as if what he was saying was just a calm before an impending storm.

Describe your character's personality to the greatest detail:
Yukimaru lives his life with the absolute confidence that everyone around is made to be subservient to him. In his day to day life he may give a laugh or a smile, but inside it's all just a means to an end. On the outside he seems to be a plain man, perhaps a bit on the flirtatious side, with a clear disposition toward laziness, well at least that's the mask he puts on.
If you really inspected the man you would notice that his laziness isn't really from a lack of motivation. Instead it's a calculated conservation of energy. His flirtatiousness isn't genuine charm. Instead it's a way to observe and gauge the reaction of others. Once his everyday mask falls off a very different figure reveals itself, one of a hunter stalking prey. He does not seek fights for the adrenaline. He seeks them to prove his dominance. In his mind if he can’t assert himself as the strongest then what value does he hold in life?
Despite his calculated presence and fierce demeanor, Yukimaru has a critical problem: his patience is paper thin. When things fail to meet his expectations, he pushes them. This often leads to not only impulsive decisions but also flashes of his true self leaking through the cracks, even if in the end this makes it harder to reach his goals. His refusal of weakness, especially in himself often leaves him alone and bitter.
Within a group, Yukimaru is a double edged sword. He can be an important asset, and if he believes the cause will benefit him, he’ll follow it tirelessly. But if things stop aligning with his end goals, he won’t hesitate to impose his own will, fracturing the group, undermining leadership, or even betraying them if it serves him better. This duality is exactly what pushed him into freelancing, offering his talents to gangs without the burden of allegiance. He thrives in the environment of controlled chaos, but outside of it, he’s little more than a restless predator, caged, hungry, and waiting for something worth sinking his teeth into.
Describe your character's backstory to the greatest detail: (200+ words minimum)
Tokyo, Shinjuku district, 21st December 2002,
Tokyo inhaled smoke, the streets humming with static energy. The decrepit streetlights of the neighborhood bars flared like a flame holding on, its light casting hard shadows, a symbol of the desolate inhabitants of the district. Above the gutter lines, but below the neon static, Yukimaru took his first breath, no wail but instead a silence so dense that it would have choked. He was born deep within the belly of Shinjuku where a man's loyalty could only be bought and a man's worth could be measured by coin or his skill with a weapon.
His father had been a cold winter storm, with an icy countenance and his temper cold. A man carved out of stone and stagnant smoke, who showed his love not in words or laughter but through calloused hands and bitter words. The kind of man who never said, "I love you," but taught you how to kill so nobody got to it first. Yukimaru didn't inherit the man's fists, not yet, anyway. His father left him instead his flat stare, unblinking and inscrutable. Well, and his hair, short, white, and brazen, as if winter itself had decided to take up residence on his head, a blizzard in a boy's form. The nurses murmured, saying that he was unnerving. Babies were supposed to cry when they were small- but Yukimaru, he sat and stared, with eyes too old for a kid so young.
Home wasn't any different from the hospital. His mother was smoke without fire, a wisp of nothing drifting aimlessly through the apartment they called home. Her flame had burned itself out long ago, leaving behind an empty husk and a tough exterior. The woman was nothing but shape and sound. There were no lullabies by the cradle; rather, he was met with arguments which seeped between paper-thin walls and his father's boots pounding down corridors. In that house, love was neither possessed nor given.
Yukimaru had learned the cadence of fist fights before he could walk. As a child, his memories were the crackle of pocket knives snapping open and the grunting from the drunken brawls his father's men would start. His father trained him how other people would break a horse, relentless and without falter. The only redeeming aspect of his childhood was his twin brother, his mirror among their family’s blacked out halls. They weren't bound by blood alone but by the lessons their father taught them and the instincts that followed suit. They moved wordlessly, their labor fluid. They were two wolves born within a cage of demons who feigned humanity but even wolves trained to be monsters can bleed.
Rain pounded against the walls of Tokyo's streets that night. It was like the sky was weeping, and the streets welcomed it with teeth bared. They took a wrong turn down one of the many shady alleys. A knife flashed faster than the lightning that filled the starless night. His brother was stopped in fear. He had always been the soft one. Yukimaru had always gone out of his way to shield the boy from his father's instruction caring for him after they were through, maybe that was a mistake. Still, that did not deter Yukimaru from jumping in front of his brother again. One jump, one breath, one heartbeat. Not a moment passed as Yukimaru moved, instinct without intent, nonetheless it did not deter the knife from the dark. It carved out a rough cut down his face. Flame-like heat reached him, one of pain like fire around his eye. But the heat of this wound was balanced by something else, a cold terrible fear. He had almost lost the dearest person to him in his entire world; they had just tried to take his brother. What had initially been a cold sensation of fright turned into a fire storm, one of blinding fury but before he was able to do anything, his brother, the very same one he'd just saved, stood beside the man holding a broken bottle that he'd retrieved from off of the alley floor. In a much different way than Yukimaru saved his brother, his brother saved them both.
That night carved a mark not just on his cheek but on the boy's mind too; he would never be the hunted one anymore. The quiet boy who once looked now looked with purpose, a hard resolve taking over his mind. He was done surviving; now he was going to study the game of life and conquer it. He began smiling more, though it was a hollow gesture, a porcelain mask. He laughed more, but it was not happiness. It was as thin as ice on a lake late into Autumn. His stride changed after that evening; his father's instructions finally clicked. Each action he took from that evening on was planned, and each statement strategized. He had tasted his weakness and spat it out. Behind the scar, behind the icy eyes, was a storm that raged in silence, one that threatened nothing until it exploded.
.
Tokyo inhaled smoke, the streets humming with static energy. The decrepit streetlights of the neighborhood bars flared like a flame holding on, its light casting hard shadows, a symbol of the desolate inhabitants of the district. Above the gutter lines, but below the neon static, Yukimaru took his first breath, no wail but instead a silence so dense that it would have choked. He was born deep within the belly of Shinjuku where a man's loyalty could only be bought and a man's worth could be measured by coin or his skill with a weapon.
His father had been a cold winter storm, with an icy countenance and his temper cold. A man carved out of stone and stagnant smoke, who showed his love not in words or laughter but through calloused hands and bitter words. The kind of man who never said, "I love you," but taught you how to kill so nobody got to it first. Yukimaru didn't inherit the man's fists, not yet, anyway. His father left him instead his flat stare, unblinking and inscrutable. Well, and his hair, short, white, and brazen, as if winter itself had decided to take up residence on his head, a blizzard in a boy's form. The nurses murmured, saying that he was unnerving. Babies were supposed to cry when they were small- but Yukimaru, he sat and stared, with eyes too old for a kid so young.
Home wasn't any different from the hospital. His mother was smoke without fire, a wisp of nothing drifting aimlessly through the apartment they called home. Her flame had burned itself out long ago, leaving behind an empty husk and a tough exterior. The woman was nothing but shape and sound. There were no lullabies by the cradle; rather, he was met with arguments which seeped between paper-thin walls and his father's boots pounding down corridors. In that house, love was neither possessed nor given.
Yukimaru had learned the cadence of fist fights before he could walk. As a child, his memories were the crackle of pocket knives snapping open and the grunting from the drunken brawls his father's men would start. His father trained him how other people would break a horse, relentless and without falter. The only redeeming aspect of his childhood was his twin brother, his mirror among their family’s blacked out halls. They weren't bound by blood alone but by the lessons their father taught them and the instincts that followed suit. They moved wordlessly, their labor fluid. They were two wolves born within a cage of demons who feigned humanity but even wolves trained to be monsters can bleed.
Rain pounded against the walls of Tokyo's streets that night. It was like the sky was weeping, and the streets welcomed it with teeth bared. They took a wrong turn down one of the many shady alleys. A knife flashed faster than the lightning that filled the starless night. His brother was stopped in fear. He had always been the soft one. Yukimaru had always gone out of his way to shield the boy from his father's instruction caring for him after they were through, maybe that was a mistake. Still, that did not deter Yukimaru from jumping in front of his brother again. One jump, one breath, one heartbeat. Not a moment passed as Yukimaru moved, instinct without intent, nonetheless it did not deter the knife from the dark. It carved out a rough cut down his face. Flame-like heat reached him, one of pain like fire around his eye. But the heat of this wound was balanced by something else, a cold terrible fear. He had almost lost the dearest person to him in his entire world; they had just tried to take his brother. What had initially been a cold sensation of fright turned into a fire storm, one of blinding fury but before he was able to do anything, his brother, the very same one he'd just saved, stood beside the man holding a broken bottle that he'd retrieved from off of the alley floor. In a much different way than Yukimaru saved his brother, his brother saved them both.
That night carved a mark not just on his cheek but on the boy's mind too; he would never be the hunted one anymore. The quiet boy who once looked now looked with purpose, a hard resolve taking over his mind. He was done surviving; now he was going to study the game of life and conquer it. He began smiling more, though it was a hollow gesture, a porcelain mask. He laughed more, but it was not happiness. It was as thin as ice on a lake late into Autumn. His stride changed after that evening; his father's instructions finally clicked. Each action he took from that evening on was planned, and each statement strategized. He had tasted his weakness and spat it out. Behind the scar, behind the icy eyes, was a storm that raged in silence, one that threatened nothing until it exploded.
.
The years folded like paper cranes quietly, precisely, and without kindness. Yukimaru no longer moved like the child from that night. His father’s lessons barked into bruises and bitter silence and were now ingrained into his soul. Every motion was carved from discipline, every breath measured like a blade drawn in silence. He had become a reflection of his father, cut from the same cold winter, carved by the same storm, but this reflection was distorted and echo warped in a cave.
He trained while others slept, when signs wept neon static onto the streets outside. Yukimaru danced with knives in the dark, each slash sweeping through the air with a silent prayer, each step a whisper of control. His body moved in a language his father had embedded into his soul: precision, patience, purpose. Yet his twin remained his anchor. Two halves of the same breath Yukimaru the silence, and his brother the hum beneath the cracks. They shared everything: meals, nightmares, purpose. Conversations weren’t words; a glance could speak volumes, a sigh could shake walls. But like a hairline fracture in glass, things grew without noise.
It started small. A hesitation during training. A look not returned. Yukimaru, ever focused, ever sharpening, began to outpace him. “Why do you push so hard?” his brother asked one day, his tone laced with worry. Yukimaru shrugged. “Because it’s what our father wants me to do.” His brother replied, “And what is it you want?”
The question hung in the air like a thick fog, and no answer came. They sat in silence after that, side by side but somehow further apart. Rain tapped at the window like a ghost scared to knock. Outside, the city blinked with broken lights, and inside, two carved from the same stone began to crack in different places.
Some nights, Yukimaru looked at his reflection so long it no longer looked human. The bathroom mirror in their apartment was cracked from corner to corner, a spiderweb of silver etched into the glass. He liked it better this way; the fracture distorted himself. In one section, he saw his father’s cold eyes; in another, the emotionless smoke that was his mother.
Training had become a ritual: wake, stretch, blade work, silence. But beneath the rhythm of his everyday life, something began to ache. He moved perfectly, struck with flawless timing, but the satisfaction no longer came with it. The applause in his father’s eyes had dulled, and so had the burning motivation within Yukimaru’s chest. He wasn’t sure when this dissatisfaction had started, only that it clung to him like thick cigarette smoke sinking deep into his body. Once again, his brother approached him after a day of training. The room still smelled of sweat and steel, but his brother didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “When I looked at you, I used to see my brother. Now, it’s just his shadow.”
Yukimaru didn’t flinch, but something inside him did. Those words didn’t pierce or cut like the blades he had grown accustomed to, instead, they sank like stones in water. For a moment, all the lessons, drills, bruises, and broken sleep felt weightless, pointless. He had become what his father molded him into, but somewhere along the line, he lost something far more valuable. His mouth fell open to respond, but his brother didn’t wait. He turned and walked away, leaving Yukimaru standing in a shadow that no longer felt like his own. The door clicked shut behind his brother.
Yukimaru stood in the middle of the room, hands still wrapped from the session. His knuckles were raw but unshaken. The words echoed louder than the collision between blades ever had. Just his shadow. They settled in his chest like dust on old furniture, something he hadn’t noticed collecting until it was disturbed and began choking him. He sat in silence, the weight of his breath heavy on his mind. It was shallow and measured, like a man trying not to be noticed in a place he didn’t belong. He had been moving like clockwork for so long that he didn’t realize the ticking had become a cage, a cage in which he was raised to be his father, a shadow of a person.
Outside, Tokyo’s night curled around the apartment like a thick haze, distant lights bleeding through the blinds. Somewhere on the street, laughter echoed; it was too far away to feel real. Yukimaru stared at the ceiling, trying to remember the last time he had laughed without it sounding fake, he couldn’t.
His mind drifted back to the mirror, the fractured one he was so used to looking into. He stood and walked to it slowly. Not from sore muscles, but as if each step dragged chains behind it. He looked at his reflection again: same scar, same white hair, and the same storm in his stare. But now, the crack across the mirror ran through his eye a perfect fault line. His fingertips reached out almost unconsciously, brushing the glass. For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to finish the job, to break it entirely to see his face in shards instead of lines. He resisted. Instead, he whispered under his breath, his voice almost foreign to his ears: “What if he’s right?”
The room, of course, offered no answer, only the hum from the dying lightbulb above and the wind clawing at the balcony door. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the old instinct stirred the one that used to fight to protect, to preserve. Not just lives, but who they were as people. He had traded instinct for calculation, rage for control, purpose for obedience. But the silence was no longer comforting. It felt like a hunger, something hollow chewing at the inside of his ribs. Something that hadn’t been fed in years.
He trained while others slept, when signs wept neon static onto the streets outside. Yukimaru danced with knives in the dark, each slash sweeping through the air with a silent prayer, each step a whisper of control. His body moved in a language his father had embedded into his soul: precision, patience, purpose. Yet his twin remained his anchor. Two halves of the same breath Yukimaru the silence, and his brother the hum beneath the cracks. They shared everything: meals, nightmares, purpose. Conversations weren’t words; a glance could speak volumes, a sigh could shake walls. But like a hairline fracture in glass, things grew without noise.
It started small. A hesitation during training. A look not returned. Yukimaru, ever focused, ever sharpening, began to outpace him. “Why do you push so hard?” his brother asked one day, his tone laced with worry. Yukimaru shrugged. “Because it’s what our father wants me to do.” His brother replied, “And what is it you want?”
The question hung in the air like a thick fog, and no answer came. They sat in silence after that, side by side but somehow further apart. Rain tapped at the window like a ghost scared to knock. Outside, the city blinked with broken lights, and inside, two carved from the same stone began to crack in different places.
Some nights, Yukimaru looked at his reflection so long it no longer looked human. The bathroom mirror in their apartment was cracked from corner to corner, a spiderweb of silver etched into the glass. He liked it better this way; the fracture distorted himself. In one section, he saw his father’s cold eyes; in another, the emotionless smoke that was his mother.
Training had become a ritual: wake, stretch, blade work, silence. But beneath the rhythm of his everyday life, something began to ache. He moved perfectly, struck with flawless timing, but the satisfaction no longer came with it. The applause in his father’s eyes had dulled, and so had the burning motivation within Yukimaru’s chest. He wasn’t sure when this dissatisfaction had started, only that it clung to him like thick cigarette smoke sinking deep into his body. Once again, his brother approached him after a day of training. The room still smelled of sweat and steel, but his brother didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “When I looked at you, I used to see my brother. Now, it’s just his shadow.”
Yukimaru didn’t flinch, but something inside him did. Those words didn’t pierce or cut like the blades he had grown accustomed to, instead, they sank like stones in water. For a moment, all the lessons, drills, bruises, and broken sleep felt weightless, pointless. He had become what his father molded him into, but somewhere along the line, he lost something far more valuable. His mouth fell open to respond, but his brother didn’t wait. He turned and walked away, leaving Yukimaru standing in a shadow that no longer felt like his own. The door clicked shut behind his brother.
Yukimaru stood in the middle of the room, hands still wrapped from the session. His knuckles were raw but unshaken. The words echoed louder than the collision between blades ever had. Just his shadow. They settled in his chest like dust on old furniture, something he hadn’t noticed collecting until it was disturbed and began choking him. He sat in silence, the weight of his breath heavy on his mind. It was shallow and measured, like a man trying not to be noticed in a place he didn’t belong. He had been moving like clockwork for so long that he didn’t realize the ticking had become a cage, a cage in which he was raised to be his father, a shadow of a person.
Outside, Tokyo’s night curled around the apartment like a thick haze, distant lights bleeding through the blinds. Somewhere on the street, laughter echoed; it was too far away to feel real. Yukimaru stared at the ceiling, trying to remember the last time he had laughed without it sounding fake, he couldn’t.
His mind drifted back to the mirror, the fractured one he was so used to looking into. He stood and walked to it slowly. Not from sore muscles, but as if each step dragged chains behind it. He looked at his reflection again: same scar, same white hair, and the same storm in his stare. But now, the crack across the mirror ran through his eye a perfect fault line. His fingertips reached out almost unconsciously, brushing the glass. For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to finish the job, to break it entirely to see his face in shards instead of lines. He resisted. Instead, he whispered under his breath, his voice almost foreign to his ears: “What if he’s right?”
The room, of course, offered no answer, only the hum from the dying lightbulb above and the wind clawing at the balcony door. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the old instinct stirred the one that used to fight to protect, to preserve. Not just lives, but who they were as people. He had traded instinct for calculation, rage for control, purpose for obedience. But the silence was no longer comforting. It felt like a hunger, something hollow chewing at the inside of his ribs. Something that hadn’t been fed in years.
The train bound for Karakura ran coughing through the mountains like a sick animal, its breath thick with rust and regret. Yukimaru sat by the window, his eyes locked onto the dull landscape, a blank expression placid on his face. His brother sat beside him, same hair, same blood, yet a different weight rested on his shoulders. Neither spoke. Tokyo had shrunk behind the pair like a dying flame whose embers were too stubborn to be put out. That city of steel and sorrow had raised them, feeding them rot, and carving their backs with expectations they hadn’t asked to bear.
The moment the train had left the station, the silence between them shifted. It was no longer an empty silence but instead a clean one. Their father couldn’t have stopped them—not that he needed to. Yukimaru had already become the man he wanted, the monster he molded. His leaving of his father’s employment had not come all at once. Yuki’s mind had slowly begun shifting after hearing his brother’s words. It culminated in him approaching his father one day—a slow-boiling argument that was shut down in moments.
“You were born to bear this weight, it’s your whole purpose,” his father said. Yukimaru replied, “I was not born to drown under your expectations,” a cold purpose staining the boy’s voice. His father responded with silence—not the usual silence laced with control. This was different. It was a stillness that felt like standing on the edge of nothing.
Then came the final spark. His father assigned Yukimaru a task—not abnormal for him really. The job itself wasn’t the issue. There was no bloodshed nor betrayal. Just a momentary choice fueled by his newfound rebellious spirit. He was supposed to find a boy and take his finger for stealing from his dad’s crew. Instead, he approached the boy and warned him of his father’s wrath soon to be fulfilled. The boy ran. Yukimaru let him go, not even attempting to stop him. He was his own man, not some weapon his father could employ as he saw fit.
He called his father, reporting all that had happened. It was unusual for him to speak of missions over the phone, but the boy had no will to return to the solemn apartment he and his brother called home. He left Tokyo that very same night with his brother in tow. They took nothing they owned other than the clothes on their backs and the money in their wallets. The two vanished like smoke leaking through a window of a burning building at night.
Karakura wasn’t soft, nor did it welcome them with open arms, but anything was better than Tokyo. The pair arrived under a sky the color of pitch, their footsteps echoing around the quiet streets—streets that didn’t know their names. Not yet, at least. Their new apartment was smaller, much cheaper, and colder, but the silence that enveloped them was one of comfort. There was no longer the sound of boots stomping down the halls at night, no orders barked at them, nothing akin to their past. Finally, the twin wolves could learn to sleep without watching the door, and maybe live a life that was finally their own.
Crime and orders were the only life Yukimaru had known. So he continued it, even here in Karakura, this time under the gangs that inhabited their streets. Yet it was completely different from what he had been doing in Tokyo. He was no longer a soldier who merely followed orders, no longer his father’s monster locked in a cage. He was his own, and he planned to keep it that way. Even while under the direction of others, he was content because he knew that at the end of the day, it was what he wanted to do.
He did not simply survive in the environment of Karakura; the man quickly thrived. The ghosts of Tokyo still whispered of coins and blades, but no longer did they dictate his steps. Yukimaru’s scars and silence were reminders of a past he could never fully escape but also a fuel for the future he intends to forge. The black market was more than just a place to survive; it was an arena where power, influence, and respect were earned by those sharp enough to claim them. For Yukimaru, dealing in the shadows wasn’t a step backward, it was a way to take control of the chaos that had once ruled over him. No longer a pawn bound by his father’s expectations, instead he is now a master of his own fate, trading in blood and steel, and building a domain born of his own desires. In the black market, he would find not just survival, but dominion.
The moment the train had left the station, the silence between them shifted. It was no longer an empty silence but instead a clean one. Their father couldn’t have stopped them—not that he needed to. Yukimaru had already become the man he wanted, the monster he molded. His leaving of his father’s employment had not come all at once. Yuki’s mind had slowly begun shifting after hearing his brother’s words. It culminated in him approaching his father one day—a slow-boiling argument that was shut down in moments.
“You were born to bear this weight, it’s your whole purpose,” his father said. Yukimaru replied, “I was not born to drown under your expectations,” a cold purpose staining the boy’s voice. His father responded with silence—not the usual silence laced with control. This was different. It was a stillness that felt like standing on the edge of nothing.
Then came the final spark. His father assigned Yukimaru a task—not abnormal for him really. The job itself wasn’t the issue. There was no bloodshed nor betrayal. Just a momentary choice fueled by his newfound rebellious spirit. He was supposed to find a boy and take his finger for stealing from his dad’s crew. Instead, he approached the boy and warned him of his father’s wrath soon to be fulfilled. The boy ran. Yukimaru let him go, not even attempting to stop him. He was his own man, not some weapon his father could employ as he saw fit.
He called his father, reporting all that had happened. It was unusual for him to speak of missions over the phone, but the boy had no will to return to the solemn apartment he and his brother called home. He left Tokyo that very same night with his brother in tow. They took nothing they owned other than the clothes on their backs and the money in their wallets. The two vanished like smoke leaking through a window of a burning building at night.
Karakura wasn’t soft, nor did it welcome them with open arms, but anything was better than Tokyo. The pair arrived under a sky the color of pitch, their footsteps echoing around the quiet streets—streets that didn’t know their names. Not yet, at least. Their new apartment was smaller, much cheaper, and colder, but the silence that enveloped them was one of comfort. There was no longer the sound of boots stomping down the halls at night, no orders barked at them, nothing akin to their past. Finally, the twin wolves could learn to sleep without watching the door, and maybe live a life that was finally their own.
Crime and orders were the only life Yukimaru had known. So he continued it, even here in Karakura, this time under the gangs that inhabited their streets. Yet it was completely different from what he had been doing in Tokyo. He was no longer a soldier who merely followed orders, no longer his father’s monster locked in a cage. He was his own, and he planned to keep it that way. Even while under the direction of others, he was content because he knew that at the end of the day, it was what he wanted to do.
He did not simply survive in the environment of Karakura; the man quickly thrived. The ghosts of Tokyo still whispered of coins and blades, but no longer did they dictate his steps. Yukimaru’s scars and silence were reminders of a past he could never fully escape but also a fuel for the future he intends to forge. The black market was more than just a place to survive; it was an arena where power, influence, and respect were earned by those sharp enough to claim them. For Yukimaru, dealing in the shadows wasn’t a step backward, it was a way to take control of the chaos that had once ruled over him. No longer a pawn bound by his father’s expectations, instead he is now a master of his own fate, trading in blood and steel, and building a domain born of his own desires. In the black market, he would find not just survival, but dominion.
Describe an interaction that your character may have as a black market dealer: (This can be anything — a weapon deal, an event they may be involved in, or maybe an interaction with a gang)
Location: Dimly lit sewer entrance on Sinnerous’s turf, damp air thick with the scent of rust and decay.
‘Hyōketsu’ steps through the shadows as ‘Governor’ and his lieutenants emerge, their presence heavy and watchful.Location: Dimly lit sewer entrance on Sinnerous’s turf, damp air thick with the scent of rust and decay.
‘Governor’ starts, voice low and deliberate: “We want your ballistic masks. Bulk order. But you’re not cutting prices for just anyone.”
‘Hyōketsu’s’ eyes are narrow. “Bulk means risk. I’m not a charity, but power demands respect. What’s your offer?”
‘Governor’ smirks. “Enough to outfit half the crew. But we’re not paying your usual rates. Cut me 20%, and you’ll have steady orders.”
‘Hyōketsu’ shakes his head slowly. “20% off? You want loyalty or a giveaway? Masks like these aren’t made on goodwill.”
‘Governor’ leans in, voice hardening. “Cut it by 15%, or I walk. You’ll lose a steady client and a chance at bigger deals.”
‘Hyōketsui’s’ expression hardens. “15% is still too much. I say 10%. You get the discount, and I get what I deserve. Otherwise, it’s full price or no deal.”
‘Governor’ eyes him, measuring. “Ten, huh? I’ll take it. But I'm not paying you upfront, and we meet again to seal the rest.”
‘Hyōketsu’ nods firmly. “Works for me. Don’t miss the next meeting.” The two exchange a final glance, a fragile deal forged in the damp shadows of the sewer.
Location: Two nights later. Same sewer entrance near Touge tunnel. Snow now blankets the world above, and melting drips echo through the tunnels. The cold air carries tension like a wire, sharp and ready to snap.
‘Hyōketsu’ arrives first, hood drawn, a heavy duffel bag at his side. He moves with the same ghostly calm, each step deliberate on the slick, wet stone. He pauses near the meeting point, listening.
Soon after, the Sinnerous higher-up arrives—this time with two guards in tow. Faces hidden behind bandanas, hands never straying far from their weapons. The air is colder between them than it is around them.
‘Hyōketsu’ doesn’t flinch. “You’re late.”
The higher-up chuckles dryly. “Had to be sure you’d show. You don’t exactly scream trustworthy.”
‘Hyōketsu’ unzips the bag, revealing stacks of ballistic masks.. Reinforced eye slots, shatter-resistant plating. Gear made to last.
‘Governor’ eyes them, impressed despite himself. “They look clean. Durable.”
“They’ll hold up longer than most of your crew,” 'Hyōketsu' replies, voice cold. “You brought your part?”
The man snaps his fingers and one of the guards hands over a sealed case. Inside, bundled stacks of yen, weighed and wrapped tight.
‘Hyōketsu’ checks it silently, then nods.
‘Governor’ smirks. “Pleasure doing business. These masks… they’ll be worn with pride.”
‘Hyōketsu’ zips the case shut and slings it over his shoulder. “Wear them however you want. Just remember—what I sell protects your face. Not your reputation.”
He turns without another word, boots splashing softly as he disappears back down the sewer tunnel.
Behind him, the Sinnerous crew examines the masks their excitement growing. But even in their celebration, one thought lingers unspoken:
The man showed up alone.
He left untouched.
Yet somehow, it feels like they got the worse end of the deal.
(This was wrote with the permission of my goat StaticReality)
Describe any other additional information that is notable in considering your character for the role of a black market dealer: (If inapplicable, put N/A)
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