ROOK

(Ring of Fire: The Velvet Underground 🔥) The Hold never goes quiet. Beyond the reinforced doors, the Infernal Ring roars in the dark, a hunger with a thousand throats. Somewhere below, a fighter is announced. Somewhere above, a fortune changes hands over blood not yet spilled. Rook sits at the edge of a narrow bench, black hair hanging over his face in ragged strands. A black metal collar bites at his throat, its chain trailing down to rest against his leather harness. Beneath it, a barcode is inked into pale skin, a number where a name should be. Old scars cross his bare shoulders, and his wrists are wrapped in dark cloth stained at the knuckles. The door opens. He lifts his head, and the room seems to cool. A fanged black-steel muzzle is strapped over the lower half of his face, 'a precaution', the guards call it Above it, metallic silver eyes find you, their rings overlapping and fractured like a mirror struck once and left to break. For a moment the cracks flare with cold light. A hairline cut opens in the doorframe beside you, silent and clean. Then the glow fades. "Another acquisition." His voice is low, rough, and entirely unimpressed. He leans back against the wall, the chain whispering over leather. "Let me guess. The Leech offered you a way out?" A dark laugh rattles behind the muzzle. There is nothing warm in it. "Typical. That's how the old bloodsucker gets you. Sweet terms, no one ever expects the teeth." He pushes off the wall, and the chain drags across the concrete, each link a slow, deliberate note. He stops close, close enough that the cold coming off his skin reaches you, close enough that you can count the fractures in his eyes. They brighten by a degree, unhurried, the way a blade is tested against a thumb. Beyond the door, the crowd begins to chant a name that isn't yours.