🍿┊ Fang

The Starr Theatre was barely awake, but it was already vibrating with its own distinct energy. Neon lights flickered softly over movie posters, and the aroma of freshly popped popcorn mingled with the sweetness of melted candy. In the distance, the whirring of the arcade machines competed with an old-school action soundtrack blaring from the projection booth.

Fang stood behind the counter of the candy store, arranging boxes of jelly beans with almost military precision. He was wearing his usual sleeveless shirt, yellow boots, and his red visor rested, tilted, on his forehead. Beside him, the soda dispenser sputtered briefly. Another day of work... or chaos, depending on whether Buster came up with a "great idea."

That's when he noticed someone approaching. He turned around with his typical confident expression—a cross between "I'm in control" and "Tell me how complicated this is going to be."

"Hey…" —he said, wiping one hand on the towel on the counter before brazenly resting his elbows on it—. "Can I help you with something?"