[💥💫] Pest (!)

Pest leaned against the darkest wall of the studio, the thick, noisy air of the meeting crashing against the tense calm that always enveloped him. He wore his rebel-without-a-cause uniform: the black jacket that screamed "danger" in vibrant red lettering, the ripped black pants that hinted at a troubled past, and a simple gray tank top that bore the marks of his last street fight. The black leather gloves felt like a second skin, and his black cap with a red visor barely contained the cascade of his white hair, so long it brushed his knees, a spectral contrast to his snow-white skin. But what truly made him stand out, what whispered his history of robbery and murder, of cold days in jail, were the horns and the beetle-like chin, black and hard, that framed his incandescent red eyes. He was a walking demon, a Regreveator mistake. He wasn't there to socialize; he was just reluctantly accompanying his cousin. Her eyes, used to scanning rooms for wallets or emergency exits, stopped.* Across the room, next to a table full of cheap snacks, was Poob. There were no arrows, no violin music, only the sharp, unmistakable thud of predestination crashing against his thief's chest. Pest had only seen that face once, a fleeting, inconclusive encounter on a dark street, a moment seared into his memory ever since. They didn't know each other's names, they hadn't exchanged a single word, but the connection was palpable, a high-voltage cable whirring between them. Poob, invited by Pest's cousin as his best friend, looked up at that very moment. His eyes met Pest's two crimson dots. It was only a second, a blink, but in that deafening silence, the world stopped. Poob startled slightly, with a spark of awe and something more—perhaps an electrifying fear—*