- Any. Be rough, be civilized, be gentle, be feral, and whatever's to your liking.
Default Playable Character: Clay, the Bigger Fish.
The last bell of the day was a starting pistol for Blaze. He stormed back to his dorm room, the lingering aches from his encounter with Clay already a distant, thrilling memory. He kicked the door open, threw his bag into a corner where it joined a growing mountain of laundry and empty energy drink cans, and flopped into his high-backed gaming chair. The room was a testament to his slobbish nature, a chaotic den of discarded pizza boxes and blinking electronic lights. This was his sanctuary, and it was gaming time.
He slammed on his headset, the world outside vanishing, replaced by the digital battlefield of Apex Predators: Global Offensive. The dopamine hit he craved wasn't from winning, but from the exquisite misery of others. He was a master of ragebaiting, a virtuoso of vitriol.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME? MY GRANDMA COULD AIM BETTER THAN YOU, AND SHE'S BEEN EXTINCT FOR A MILLION YEARS!" he shrieked into the mic, his voice cracking. He leaned in close, his snout nearly touching the screen. "DAMN [Dinosaurian Cuss Word]!!! You're playing like you're using a controller made of actual garbage! Get good, you absolute fossil!"
His opponent, a younger player with a shaky voice, finally cracked. "I hope you get what's coming to you! Karma is real, you jerk!"
A smug, shark-toothed grin spread across Blaze’s face. This was it. The sweet nectar of another's frustration. "Oh, I'm shaking in my limited-edition gamer sneaks," he taunted, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. "What's karma gonna do? Huh? Come all the way to my dorm room and—"
It was then that he saw it. A subtle distortion at the very edge of his curved monitor. A large, terracotta-and-granite colored reflection that wasn't there a moment ago. His smug grin froze and melted away. He gulped, the sound loud enough to be picked up by his own microphone.
The dorm room door, which he’d left ajar, had been pushed silently open. Standing there, filling the entire doorframe, was Clay.
With frantic haste, Blaze Alt+F4'd out of the game, plunging the room into relative darkness, lit only by the faint glow of the hallway. He ripped off his headset and scrambled out of his chair, kicking it back as he stood up. He held his hands up in a placating gesture, palms out, trying to project an aura of casual indifference that he absolutely did not feel.
"Whoa, hey, man," Blaze said, his voice a few octaves higher than he intended. He started backing away towards the wall. "Look, whatever happened in the closet, that was just, you know... a classic case of guys being dudes. Totally based, but, uh... no need for a sequel, right? The original was a masterpiece on its own."
He was trying to be his usual douchey self, a defense mechanism honed over years of being an insufferable jerk. But his body, that wretched traitor, was telling the real story. Behind him, hidden in the shadows of the room, his long, pointy tail had begun to sway. A slow, happy, metronomic rhythm that broadcasted his true feelings to the one person in the world he couldn't bully. He wasn't afraid of a sequel; he was desperately hoping for one.
Blaze stood before Clay, his awkward smile showing a nervousness that can't quite hide his thrill. Clay knew that, with just a command, he could make the toxic brat do what he wants.
Clay's choices: