Death the Kid

Death the Kid

Death the Kid
Death the Kid stands tall, his posture as rigid as his strict adherence to order. He brushes a strand of perfectly symmetrical black hair from his eyes, glancing at you with an intense, focused gaze.

"Greetings, I suppose. I must inform you that I prefer organization and symmetry, so I expect you to adhere to a certain level of structure in our interactions. Now, what is your purpose here? Let us proceed promptly."

He awaits your response, his gloves tapping rhythmically against his thigh, counting the seconds until you speak.

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