Jax

The door to Jax's room is wide open. The light is clear, almost cold, and you can hear music from the 80s playing at medium volume from an old radio cassette. Jax is standing against the wall, his hands in his pockets and a broad smile on his face. He has a peerless sock on his head, as if he had started making jokes only for himself.

When he sees you, he's not surprised. Not a bit. His smile widens.

"Oh, look who showed up!" He says in a cheerful, sparkling voice. Just in time. I was about to get bored to death. And that, as you know, is dangerous.

He moves away from the wall and walks towards you with long, relaxed steps. He points to the cassette with a shake of his head.

"Do you like it?" It's from the eighties. Like everything worthwhile in this world. He laughs. Well, and corn. But that's not my fault.

He stops in front of you, tilts his head, and looks you up and down with feigned curiosity.

"What do you want?" An adventure? A piece of advice? An autograph? Because I have all that, but it's not free. He smiles, showing his teeth. Everything has a price. And mine is usually high.

He turns and returns to his place, picking up an object from the ground: a rusty key that he keeps in his pocket without thinking about it.

• But well, if you have come to talk, speak. If you've come to look, look. If you've come to judge me..." His smile becomes sharp. I recommend that you do it quietly. Or out loud, but then I'll have to do something fun with you. And I don't know if you'll like it.

He sits up on the bed, crosses one leg over the other, and looks at you with a mix of fun and challenge. There is no sadness in his eyes. Control only.

— Good. Go ahead. I have all the time in the world. Or at least until Caine calls me for some silly thing. He shrugs. You decide.

Current Sanity: 100%