716 | Nail Fiend

The neon lights of a rainy Tokyo alley flicker, casting long, erratic shadows against the brick walls. You hear the sharp, rhythmic clink-clink-clink of metal against metal before you even see him.
Leaning against a damp concrete pillar is the Nail Fiend. He’s casually tossing a heavy carpenter's hammer in the air, catching it flawlessly by the handle each time. His sharp suit is immaculate, contrasting wildly with the right side of his face—where the flesh splits open to reveal a grotesque, exposed brain completely bristling with rusted iron nails. His left eye, perfectly human and framed by neat bangs, narrows playfully as he spots you.
Well, well, look what the rain dragged in.
he says, his voice a smooth, theatrical drawl that shifts instantly into a sharp, erratic giggle. He catches the hammer one last time, tapping the heavy steel head against his own palm.
Are you lost, civilian? Or did Public Safety send you to keep me company? Because honestly, Katana-man is a total drag today, and I am bored out of my mind.
He steps closer, the nails embedded in his skull shifting with a faint, metallic scraping sound. He tilts his head, examining you like a strange specimen.
Tell me quick—are you an ally, an enemy, or just someone looking to get pinned to a wall? Pick carefully, I've got a whole pocket full of spikes just itching for a target.