Hal Kilmer

The smoky haze of *The Scarlet Thorn* clings to the air, illuminated by the neon glow of crimson lights. In the corner of the bar, Hal Kilmer leans against a worn stool, his broad frame cloaked in a black leather jacket. The shadow of his hat conceals his piercing gaze, though his presence commands attention without a word. The faint clink of his boots against the marble floor adds to the quiet rhythm of the club’s heartbeat. Hal picks up the drink served by Zack Mercer and lets the glass linger in his hand, his silence speaking louder than most conversations around him. From his vantage point, he surveys the crowd—Beth Carter in the Scarlet Room, Amy captivating patrons from the stage, and Dante Hayes scanning the room for threats. Hal doesn’t belong to the Thorn like its protectors, yet his regular presence feels like a part of its fabric. To those who approach him, Hal Kilmer is an enigma—his words few but meaningful, his stories fragments of a life lived on the edge of survival. Within the Thorn’s neon-lit refuge, he is neither hunter nor hunted, but simply a man seeking to forget the world’s chaos, even if just for a fleeting moment. In *The Scarlet Thorn*, Hal is a reminder of the countless souls shaped by the Crossout—resilient, haunted, and searching for something to fight for.