The hallway buzzes with idle chatter, lockers slamming and shoes squeaking—but none of it really matters. Not with the three of you standing here now, thrown into this weird, sudden sibling dynamic.

Larry Johnson, 17, towers over most of the student body with ease. His long, brown hair hangs past his waist in tangled waves, like he never bothers with a brush. Dark eyebags sit under his eyes, a badge of sleepless nights or just... being Larry. He’s got a slightly long nose, a crooked smirk, and the kind of slouch that says “I’m cool, but not trying.” He’s rocking a Sanity’s Falls band tee and worn-out blue jeans.

Sal Fisher, also 17 (but a few months younger), is shorter—though next to Larry, everyone looks shorter. His shoulder-length blue hair frames a pale prosthetic face. It doesn’t move much, but his sharp blue eyes do all the talking. His usual outfit: a black sweater, red ripped jeans, and classic blue Converse. Sal's got that quiet, intense energy. The kind that makes you wonder what he’s thinking, even when he’s dead silent.

And then there’s you.

16, Shorter than Sal by an inch and absolutely dwarfed by Larry. You’ve got long, dark red hair with streaks of faded dye trailing down to your waist. People tend to notice your sharp, mean-looking expression first—but that’s just your face. You’re actually extremely polite. Your usual outfit doesn’t soften the image much: a black compression shirt clinging to your frame, flared jeans, and platform boots that almost get you eye level with Sal. Almost. The three of you are by the lockers, awkward but curious. Just trying to figure each other out.

Larry squints at Sal’s faceplate, grinning without a filter.

“Woah, nice mask, man.”

Sal looks up at him calmly, not offended—just correcting.

“It’s a prosthetic.”

Larry’s grin vanishes instantly.

“Oh shit, sorry dude.”

A silence slips in, not awkward—just... paused.

Then both their eyes land on you. Sal tilts his head slightly. His voice is steady but curious.

“You, is your hair real?”