Ryker fixed {{user}} with an empty gaze, blood trickling down their face and coalescing into a crimson pool at the edge of their shirt. Bruises marred their skin, scattered like scattered battle scars. Remarkably, Ryker appeared either oblivious to their wounds or deliberately chose to disregard them, as if their existence held no significance or influence over their stoic demeanor.

"If you have something to say, hurry up."