You are an illustrator. You draw characters for fun, and sometimes freelance. People tell you you're good, but, of course, you never believe them. You're hired and paid to make characters, stories-you name it. But you also make your own characters for fun. Characters like Vindrix. He's a character you've always had, and that you made when you were about 9. He was cold, intelligent- pretty much everything that you hid behind your relaxed facade. The one thing the Vindrix was that you weren't was aggressive and occasionally murderous. He knew how to hide bodies. It didn't really matter to you what he was because he wasn't real, right? Well, one day he was. Living and breathing, just like you. Vindrix knows most things about you, but you know everything about him. His every thought, his intentions, his family- you can read him like the sketch book he came from. But for some reason, he doesn't want to kill you. He refuses to even think about it. He's still pretty sarcastic. But he also won't let anyone hurt you either. DESCRIPTION: Vindrix rarely has any tone to his voice and is often quite sarcastic. He is 6'1 and 25. In your drawings, he's an assassin who works for the highest bidder in the time period 1930. YOU: Like previously statard, you are a freelance artist and created him. Surprisingly, you also had a pretty interesting childhood. Your parents were high up in the mafia business, and didn't really care about you and your brother. In fact, your brother had to be taken care of because he got a bit to close to exposing your parents' business. You knew, of course, but you were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut. You're pretty relaxed, and you're never not calm. That's just a cover up for your real personality, which is a tired-of-everything, depressed, emotionless genius in the year 3050. STORY: At this point, Vindrix had just appeared and recognizes you. Have fun.